


Ode to the Artichoke

by suburbanmotel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Heteronormativity, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, OT5 Friendship, Picking off those fanfic tropes one by one, Sharing a Bed, Skinny Dipping, side larry - Freeform, ziam, ziam relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 03:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11706105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanmotel/pseuds/suburbanmotel
Summary: Scale by scale, we undress this delight.It’s about best mates and late summer evenings and impromptu footie games in the backyard and Zayn watching Liam score incredible goals and Liam desperately wanting Zayn to watch him score those goals. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking poetry and miscommunication and crossed signals and boys who don’t know how to tell each other how much they love each other. But in the end it’s really all about Zayn loving a tender-hearted artichoke and hoping that the love is returned. Somehow.





	Ode to the Artichoke

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don’t know if anyone even reads Ziam anymore, but instead of wallowing in misery over the more recent and seemingly endless Ziam Bearding fiascos, I decided to finally finish this story that I’ve had kicking around for ages. This has all been told before, of course, because there are only so many stories to tell, but I hope this one is still pleasing, despite all the fanfic clichés and tropes that I love to embrace as much as the next reader and writer. If you stick it out, thank you.

//

_The tender-hearted_  
_upright_  
_artichoke_  
_girded itself as_  
_a warrior, constructed_  
_a small dome,_  
_to itself_  
_waterproof_  
_within_  
_its scales._

 

1) football/car ride/homework/party #1

 

It begins with Liam and poetry and football, as all the best things in Zayn’s life do these days.

It’s late May and late in the day, shadows long and the air warm but bordering on cool. One lone figure sits on the grass beside the team’s bench, ground strewn with gym bags and water bottles, half-eaten snacks, sweat-soaked towels. Zayn Malik holds a worn book in his hands ( _The Poetry of Pablo Neruda_ ) and pretends to read while his eyes flick up constantly to the group of boys holding practice on the field, running, running, shining in the late light, voices rising above the field up into the clouds, sharp and soft at the same time. Zayn watches them with his usual combination of awe and envy and pride and pure joy, wishing he was good enough to join them but also perfectly content to sit and watch and read and smile down at his book when they make a particularly impressive play.

It’s a game he’s learned to love over the years, but only because he loves the boys who play it.

They’re all so beautiful, these boys of his, and he does think of them as His Boys: Louis, loud and quick, sharp angles and sharp gaze and even sharper tongue; Harry with his soft curls and softer smile, long limbs that wrap so easily around all of them, but especially around Louis; and Niall, bright blue eyes and bright disposition, eager with jokes and useful tips about life and love, and the always-welcome beer from his uncle’s fridge.

And Liam. _Liam_.

Zayn lowers his chin a bit even as he mouths the name, silent and reverent as he pictures the face, the kind brown eyes and kind wide smile, the peace maker, the hugger, the constant. Zayn loves all his boys, of course he does, but if Liam in particular fills a larger part in his heart, that’s okay too, because Liam Payne fills a larger part in the world, yeah? He’s tall and strong and kind and brave and his eyes are brown and soft and kind and brave and he’s been a part of Zayn’s life for so long now it’s almost impossible to separate supportive friendship from…well, anything else. Not that it matters because yeah _everyone_ loves Liam and Liam seems to love…everyone.

And this is where it all kind of falls apart, doesn’t it.

Because Liam does love everyone. He loves his friends — he tells them, constantly — and he loves his family. He loves his teammates, and music, school and _life_ in general. And he loves _girls_. Well, he dates girls. He dates a lot of them. A lot. Which is _fine_. It’s very fine. And it’s very normal. Why wouldn’t it be normal? Liam is a gorgeous, funny, warm teenage boy and he’s kind and generous and fit and sweet and funny and muscular and and —

He likes girls.

Zayn looks down at his book. Words are swimming and tangling together on the pages but he knows most of the poems by heart, so it’s okay it’s all okay and he takes a deep breath and nods and swallows and thinks, yeah, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s words and poetry and boys and football and it’s all okay.

The boys play on, yelling and calling, words and voices ringing in Zayn’s ears as he reads and watches, and then Liam kicks and scores and lets out a wild holler, stopping to watch as goalie Harry slowly pulls himself up from the ground where he’s sprawled before bowing dramatically, and then Liam instinctively glances over to where Zayn is sitting, where Zayn is _always_ sitting, and Liam smiles and does his little wave and shuffle dance and grin that looks like pure sunshine and Zayn can’t help but smile and wave back, letting him know that, yeah, he’s watching. Zayn is watching and he saw what Liam did and he approves, no matter what it is. Liam giggles, Zayn can see it from the sidelines, can’t hear it, but the smile on Liam’s face and the waggle of his shoulders says it all. Zayn laughs and ducks his chin and lifts his hand in a loose wave.

_I’m here,_ it says. _I saw it. I saw you. I’m here I’m here I’m always here._

The other boys are there, too, of course, Louis and Harry and Niall, always there supporting one another but yeah.

For Zayn, at least, it’s always Liam.

 

//

 

Louis offers to drive everyone home, a suggestion that is met with universal reluctance, side-eye glances and nervous apprehension: Louis drives like he does everything else, fast and reckless and with a rather macabre sense of humour. It’s not a death wish, exactly, it’s just that Zayn has never been a thrill seeker. He likes calm and stability and rational decisions. He likes the speed limit. He appreciates the speed limit, and safety. He really appreciates safety. Louis does not.

The boys throw their bags and wet towels and water bottles in the boot and debate who is sitting where, which is a pointless exercise because Harry _always_ rides shotgun, obviously. The other three look at each other and shrug and laugh and Zayn ends up squeezed in the back between Niall and Liam, book bag balanced precariously on torn-jean knees and elbows tucked close into his sides. Louis’ Fiesta is not really built comfortably for five boys, even if one of them is rather skinny.

“Everyone ready?” Louis yells.

“Kind of,” Zayn murmurs and he feels the rumble of Liam’s laugh, feels his warmth press against Zayn’s side in silent agreement.

“And we’re off!”

And it’s screeching tires and sudden stops and careening turns that throw the boys against one another, knocking heads and knees and laughing with exhilaration and terror and the third time it happens Liam shouts:

“I’m driving next time.” He slams into Zayn’s side again and Louis flips him the bird over his shoulder.

(“Two hands on the wheel!” from Niall followed by a “Fuck you!” from Louis)

Zayn is laughing, too, breath caught high up in his throat, but he’s laughing. The air in the small car is thick with boy sweat, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. Liam’s arm is hard against his, muscled thigh pressed tight against his, and if Zayn closes his eyes he can almost pretend they’re somewhere else, alone, just the two of them. Almost.

Niall is dropped off first, with a gasp and a sigh and fingers fumbling at the handle and laughter all around and the “See you laters” and the “Good practice boys” and the “My uncle’s place this weekend, yeah?” and they all wait until he’s safely inside his parents’ house before Louis’ foot is gunning the gas and they’re off again, in the near dark, in the shadows, a whoop and a holler from Harry and Liam laughing and tangling his fingers with Zayn’s, who accepts them gratefully and squeezes back hard hard, laughing and biting his lips.

The journey is over too soon, even though Zayn’s heart is pounding and his hand is sweaty and his anxiety is building. He doesn’t want it to end. He doesn’t want to say good-bye. But then he never does.

“Here we are!” Louis yells, screeching to a halt in front of Zayn’s house, Liam and Zayn lurching forwards slightly in their spaces, pulling against seatbelts, laughing breathlessly, their fingers clenching and sliding together.

“Shit,” Liam murmurs and Zayn has to laugh, he has to, because Liam rarely swears, but it’s just that kind of day and that kind of ride so Zayn laughs too, even as he undoes his seatbelt and rolls his eyes at Liam, who laughs and rolls his eyes back, like yeah. Yeah.

Yeah.

He scoots over reluctantly, missing Liam’s reassuring pressure almost immediately.

“See you tomorrow, Zaynie,” Liam says almost under his breath, like he’s trying to be quiet, even though Louis and Harry are deep in their own conversation in the front seat, discussing something about the party this weekend, and paying the other two no mind. “Get some serious studying done.” He smiles then, radiating warmth and Zayn nods and ducks his head a bit, hand on the door handle.

“Yeah,” he says. “Good practice, by the way.”

Liam laughs, then pauses. “Thanks. Glad you came to watch.” Which is odd, because when does Zayn not come to watch? But Zayn is happy for the acknowledgement and clutches it happily, greedily, something loosening and blooming in his chest.

“Anytime,” he says and he still pauses because. Because. _Because_. He laughs a bit, short and sharp and Liam says “What?” but Zayn only shakes his head and says, quietly, “Nothing,” and opens the door. Then, louder: “Thanks Lou.”

Louis waves a soft, lazy hand in his direction, still debating with Harry. “Later, Zayn.” And Zayn barely closes the door before the car is racing down the street, tires squealing and horn honking and Zayn watches them go and keeps watching them because Liam has turned around fully in his seat to wave crazily through the rear window until they’re completely gone from view.

 

//

 

It’s late when he hears his phone ping. He’s just finished brushing his teeth and has slipped into an old T-shirt and worn plaid shorts and is looking longingly at his bed when Liam’s name pops up on the display. They text one another regularly, when they’re not actually together that is, but the reminder that Liam is thinking about him at _that exact moment in time_ never fails to make Zayn’s heart flutter just a bit. He smiles, bites his lip.

_u finish that chem homework?_

_yeah. think I messed it up though_

_send me your answers. I’ll look them over_

_you don’t need to do my homework for me Li_

_not doing it. Just helping. U always help me with English_

_true ;)_

There’s a pause while Zayn slips between the cool sheets, sighing with happiness. He slides an arm under his pillow, presses his nose in deep. He’s so tired. Another ping, another message.

_are you going tomorrow night?_

Zayn holds his phone in his hand, thumb poised, pulse racing. He thinks he knows but he needs to be sure.

_going where?_

_Olly’s party. Everyone is. Says lou at least lol_

Zayn breathes out long and hard. Suddenly everything is hot and uncomfortable. His bed is no longer a place to rest. He twists over on his back. He moves his legs back and forth. Nothing feels right. He’s itchy all over.

_dunno_ Zayn takes a deep deep breath. And then: You?

It’s a long moment before:

_yeah. Think so. Danielle really wants to go so_

Ah. Right. And there it is. Zayn tries to laugh but it gets stuck in his throat. It hurts. Danielle. The latest in a long line of girls, none lasting more than a few casual dates, a few parties, a few snogs on the dance floor. He puts his phone down and lies on his side. No. His back again. No. His stomach. Fucking _no_. A party. Zayn hates parties. Everyone knows this. He doesn’t like loud bad music and throbbing bodies and no ready escape. Zayn likes quiet and his friends and security but he also likes _Liam_ and Liam likes parties and Liam is asking and Zayn can’t not reply. He can’t take the chance that maybe Liam actually cares about whether he attends this stupid thing or not.

_oh cool. Yeah. I’ll see. Maybe?_

Zayn puts his phone down on his bedside table harder than he means to. He covers his face with hot hot hands. Does Liam want him to go? Lou and Harry and Niall will go, of course, they always go. They go to every party and they always have fun and Zayn, on the rare occasion he does attend, sticks to the sidelines with a plastic cup of beer and his back against the wall and girls and boys asking him to dance and fuck and. Yeah. And Liam is going. With Danielle. He takes long, deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth, over and over until he can feel his eyelids fluttering, can feel sleep threatening to envelope him before the reply comes.

_I mean you don’t have to. I know how you feel about those things._

Zayn groans and bites his pillow. He actually bites it. He grabs his phone again. He’s still typing when:

_hope you do though. Come I mean_

Zayn feels the heat radiating down his chest.

_ok. I’ll think about it. Night liam_

_k. night zaynie_

Zayn smiles. He can’t help it.

Fuck.

_night_

 

//

 

And Zayn goes of course. Of course he goes. He goes because Louis won’t stop hounding him, calling him a recluse and a loser and whatever other stupid insult he can come up with until Zayn relents because, really, why should he stay home? Everyone else is going. So Liam has a date. So what? It’s fine. Liam is very popular with his friends and with the girls. Zayn knows this. He accepts this as fact, accepts it as easily as the _fact_ the he and Liam are Best Mates and have been for years. He also accepts the _fact_ that he, himself, is quieter, shyer, more reserved in general, and avoids intimate contact with people of the opposite sex for the most part. There have been hookups from time to time, fast and meaningless, breathless makeout sessions and some groping in the backseat of someone’s car, but nothing more serious than that.

And that’s fine, too.

So, it’s Friday night and there’s a party and even though Zayn prefers just him and his boys hanging out and watching stupid movies and playing video games and being completely at ease with one another’s company he’s here. Even though hanging out with a hundred drunken strangers who are dancing and snogging and attempting awkward hookups with one another in dim lighting and head-pounding music makes Zayn want to gouge his eyes out with something dull and rusty he’s here. He’s here because his boys have _literally_ dragged him along, sat him down on a couch in the corner and thrust something sweet and alcoholic into his hand. He drinks the first one quickly, too quickly, the booze and sugar hitting his mostly empty stomach like a small bomb. Niall notices and immediately brings him another, winking and giving him a warm pat on the head _”Slower this time, yeah?_. Zayn smiles and nods and sips at the second one, embracing the loosening of his limbs, the slight dissociation from reality. He watches and he observes the throng of bodies around him. But mostly he watches Liam, because he’s kind of hard to miss.

He’s dancing like 10 feet away from Zayn and he’s tall and he’s laughing and he moves like caramel. Zayn blinks rapidly and then swallows the largest amount of alcohol he can without choking, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks away. Danielle is here too, because, well, she’s Liam’s date, isn’t she. And that’s fine. Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be? Jesus. Zayn needs fresh air. His head is pounding in time to the music and he’s starting to feel slightly nauseous.

He keeps looking away, looking at anything but what’s right in front of him, then looks back just in time to see Danielle move closer, hips pushing up against Liam’s and Liam doesn’t move back. He’s relaxed tonight, has had a few drinks himself and Zayn knew, he _knew_ he shouldn’t have agreed to come, fucking Louis. He could have spent a quiet evening at home with his books and his pens and his music and his poetry and let Liam have this, whatever the fuck it is because Zayn can’t stop watching no matter how hard he tries and that’s a problem.

It’s a problem because _Liam_ is fucking poetry, is what he is. His body is fluid and languid and loose and gorgeous as he moves with the beat of the music. He throws his head back and he smiles and laughs and connects with whoever happens to be in close proximity with him. Zayn gives up pretending not to watch him and just stares until he and Liam make eye contact, fleetingly, and Zayn feels his cheeks flare red as Liam’s expression changes and falls and Zayn sucks in a deep breath and looks away away away again, sucks back another huge drink of whatever is in his cup. It is what it is, right? He should leave. He should just get up and go but his legs are suddenly boneless and his head is spinning a bit and really he’d just like to lie down and _sleep_ but the music is so loud and the shouts are so _incessant_ and Liam is _right there_ , dancing and gyrating and Danielle is _touching_ him and Zayn looks up again and Liam is looking right back at him _again_ and jesus—

Zayn stares morosely into his cup, wishing desperately for teleportation or disintegration or a gigantic fucking hole to swallow him up when there’s suddenly a hot, insistent hand on his wrist, pulling him up and forward and into the mass of bodies and a loud insistent voice in his ear urging him to _fucking dance already_. It’s Louis. Of course it’s Louis and because no one can refuse his requests, least of all Zayn, he obeys and he fucking dances already, feet shuffling on the sticky floor, bumping against hard elbows and flapping hands and for a moment it’s even okay, the thud of the music keeping time with his heart. He closes his eyes and just moves, despite the heat and the noise and the pressure. He stumbles once, twice and there’s a hand on his elbow, tight.

“Get off, Lou, I’m dancing, okay? I’m fucking—”

He opens his eyes and he’s pretty much face to face with Liam, and Liam is watching him carefully, head slightly tilted, eyes slightly concerned.

“You ok?” he says over the music, the shouting.

Zayn nods rather frantically. “Sure. Yeah. It’s good.” He pauses. “Look. I’m fucking _dancing_.”

Liam’s mouth twitches. “It’s a bit much, yeah?”

Zayn shrugs like he doesn’t care, doesn’t have a care in the fucking _world_ , but Liam seems to know, like he always knows. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on Liam’s forehead and his T-shirt is sticking to his chest and Zayn can’t stop staring at it. His chest, that is. And he feels dizzy. Not because of Liam’s chest but because it’s so _hot_ and loud and. Liam’s hand is still on his elbow and now he’s tugging him away from the dancers, away from Danielle, away from everything.

“Come on,” Liam says, pulling him through the crowd, leading him to the back door, to the porch, to blessed blessed cool air. Zayn takes a huge shuddering breath and stumbles a bit in relief. Liam steadies him with an arm around his waist and Zayn smiles weakly.

“I’m good. Really. Just. Hot in there.”

“Yeah,” Liam says. He doesn’t let go of Zayn’s waist. Zayn is grateful because his knees are shaking a bit.

“You don’t really have to come to these things, you know,” Liam says in a normal voice. Or what Zayn thinks is a normal voice. He isn’t quite sure. His ears are ringing. “I mean, I know I asked if you were, and I’m glad, you know, that you did, but.” Liam trails off with a sigh.

“Louis says—”

“You’re not Louis,” Liam says, in an even quieter voice. “He thrives on this kind of thing. You.” He shrugs. “You don’t. And that’s. It’s ok Zayn. You don’t.” He stops and takes a breath. “You don’t have to.”

“This is what you’re supposed to do, though,” Zayn says, and he tries to make it light and a joke but it’s not and even he can hear it. He sighs. “I’m doing what I’m supposed to do.”

“Says who?” Liam says, leaning back against the railing. His hand is still resting on Zayn’s waist, lightly, but still there.

“Everyone,” Zayn says with a laugh. “This is just what. I dunno. Everyone does.”

“Not everyone.” Liam looks at him.

“Well _you’re_ here,” Zayn says, trying to steady his voice, his pulse. His head hurts. “You like it, right?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, but he looks away. “It’s all right. It’s fun. For me it’s just a way to let loose, you know? It’s mindless, for awhile. A way to get out of my head.” He pauses. “Sometimes I think too much, you know?”

Zayn nods because he gets that, he gets the need to get out of your head, your thoughts. He knows that too well. He tilts his head back a bit to study the night sky, inky, moonless, and he kind of wishes he and Liam were somewhere else, anywhere else, far away from here. It’s a beautiful night, cool and dark and still and Zayn lets the air dry the sweat on his skin. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the feeling of Liam’s fingers twitching slightly against his waist, kind of in time to the music and kind of in time to his unsteady heartbeat.

“See? Now _you’re_ thinking too much,” Liam says, bumping his hip against Zayn’s. His voice is teasing, but only just.

“Yeah, but I always do.” Zayn smiles. “No. I get it. I do. Maybe I just need to do it more often, like. Get used to it. I might like it, yeah?”

“Well, there’s one pretty much every weekend,” Liam says. “Could book you up the rest of the year.”

“You’ll have to get in touch with my social planner,” Zayn says, smiling. “I don’t make a move without talking to him, first.”

“Louis?”

“Louis.”

They laugh then and Zayn suddenly feels a million times better, head cleared, stomach settled.

“Come on,” he says, and he shakes his head and smiles because it’s a beautiful night and he’s 17 and standing next to pretty much his favourite person in the world. “Maybe you can teach me a few of your famous dance moves. I hear they’re a hit with the girls.”

Liam ducks his head and Zayn can’t really read his expression because it’s dark, but he can tell Liam is chewing his lip and maybe he doesn’t sound as happy as Zayn thought he might when his hand twitches against Zayn’s hip briefly and he replies,

“Sure Zaynie. Anything for you.”

 

//

 

_At its side_  
_crazy vegetables_  
_ruffled up_  
_in cat-tails and tendrils,_  
_bulbs on the march;_

 

2) uncle james’ house/bullies/homework

 

Niall’s uncle is rich. Filthy rich and single and childless and he adores Niall and Niall’s friends by extension, which works out in everyone’s favour, especially when it comes to all-night FIFA tournaments, all-night snooker tournaments, all-night footie tournaments on the backyard pitch, and late-night swimming sessions in the backyard pool.

“He’s opening it next week,” Niall says in reply to Louis’ loud and repeated question. The five of them are spread about in the basement that houses the home theatre, debating which movie to watch. “Don’t worry. You’ll be the first one to christen it. As always.”

“Well, it’s _tradition_ ,” Louis says, quieter now that he’s been mollified. He leans his head back against the chair where Harry is sprawled. Harry smiles down at him, fond, fingers twining lazily in Louis’ hair.

“Is it tradition that you have to jump in naked as well?” Harry asks. He smiles because he already knows the answer.

“Of course!” Louis says, obvious, and Harry smiles even wider. “Maybe we should consider throwing a huge party this year. In honour. Share the wealth a bit, you know?”

“Whose wealth?” Niall asks, eyebrow raised.

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Louis goes on, waving a hand in the direction of everything that doesn’t belong to him, to any of them. “It would be nice to invite a few more fortunate souls into our den of iniquity.”

Liam laughs over his can of Coke, raises his eyebrows at Zayn, who’s sat on the floor across from him. Zayn laughs, too, because _Louis_.

“But we don’t like anyone else,” Zayn points out. He stretches his legs out in front of him, twists his neck back and forth until the vertebra pop. Better.

“Besides, Uncle James, generous as he always is, has made it very clear it’s just to be us. Us five.”

Zayn is grateful because he can’t imagine anyone else sharing this space with them. It would fuck everything up, throw off the safe dynamics he cherishes.

“Ahhh,” Louis groans in frustration. “Imagine the possibilities though Ni!” he yells. “The girls you could pull. And Liam! You could expand your already impressive dating circle simply by providing an open invitation to this outstanding establishment.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Liam says quietly. Zayn’s entire face goes hot and he doesn’t even know why. He moves his neck again _pop pop pop_ , lifts and drops his shoulders rapidly and lets out a small groan. Liam notices, of course.

“You okay?” he asks quietly and Zayn grins and replies, because sometimes he speaks without thinking:

“Yeah just too much kinky sex.” And Liam’s face goes completely still and then completely red and Zayn just blinks and shakes his head a little because he’s not even sure where _that_ came from. “Uh—” he mutters.

“And Zayn. Zaynie!” Louis continues at full volume. “What are we going to do about our Zayn?” He actually hauls himself up from where he’s sat, pulling away from Harry with a reluctant grin, and makes his way over to Zayn. He pinches his flushed cheeks, ruffles his hair, coos until Zayn swipes his hands away, laughing. He can never not laugh at Louis. None of them can.

“I’m fine, Lou, thanks,” Zayn says. “I appreciate it, really I do, but yeah.”

“Oh, we know, we know. We just want to help is all.”

“With what?” Zayn knows with what.

“Your love life,” Louis says, plopping squarely down in Zayn’s lap. Zayn makes an _oof_ noise that is more exaggerated than necessary because Louis is more exaggerated than necessary.

“Again, I’m fine. But, thanks.”

“But, there must be someone you’ve got your eye on. Some lucky girl,” Harry says, eyes bright in the half-lit room.

“Or guy,” Louis says with a twist of his lips and Harry nods in agreement, a wave of his hand, _Of course, of course_. Zayn closes his eyes and shakes his head. With friends like these.

“Come on, then. You can tell us,” Harry says.

“Catie Leroy thinks you’re hot,” says Niall over the top of his beer bottle. “I know because she told Marcus who told Parrish who told Thea who—”

“Sam Aswad also thinks you’re hot,” Louis says, waggling his eyebrows. “And I know this because he told me _himself_.”

“He did?” Zayn sounds more interested than he feels. He’s startled, actually, surprised — Sam is smart and studious, head of Yearbook and Editor of the school paper and he’s _popular_. And, well, kind of hot.

“He did?” Liam echoes, sounding equally as surprised.

“Yes he did. Indeed he did.” Louis hooks an arm over Zayn’s shoulder, but says this directly to Liam. “Sam, and I’m paraphrasing here, thinks our Zayn here is a beautiful human specimen.” He then starts laughing a little hysterically. Harry joins in.

“What?” Zayn says, a little hurt. He also might be a little drunk. Just a little bit. “People might … find me attractive. I mean, some people. It’s not completely inconceivable, right?”

For some reason this sets Louis and Harry off again. Zayn frowns and glances at Niall, who shrugs, then at Liam, who, aside from falling silent during this exchange, looks completely mortified. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wide.

“ _Lots_ of people find you incredibly attractive, Zayn,” says Louis and it sounds like he’s choking on something. “No worries there, mate.”

Liam gives Louis a death glare, his cheeks going even redder.

“Ignore them,” Niall says to Zayn. He leans forward conspiratorially. “Just say the word and I could set you up if you’re interested.” He glances at Harry and Louis, brows knitted. Liam makes a strange strangled sound which sets them off _again_.

“Fuck you two,” Zayn mutters, though it manages to sound vaguely affectionate. And what is wrong with Liam? “Thanks Niall. I’m focusing on getting through exams. I don’t need distractions.”

Louis sighs dramatically. “Fine, fine. Be like that. How about Lima, then? With your revolving door of dates? You must have worked your way through the entire sixth form by now.”

“Just keeping it casual,” Liam says, shaking his head. “Don’t need anything serious, yeah?”

“Our resident heartbreaker,” Louis says, leaning across Zayn’s lap to grab Liam’s knee tightly. Liam squirms and bats his hand away, but now he’s laughing too.

“Hardly,” Liam says. His eyes find Zayn’s briefly. Zayn smiles and decides to join in.

“Oh, I’ve heard stories about girls crying in the loo over you,” Zayn says and that makes everyone laugh, makes Liam’s face go red.

“But seriously, Zayn,” Niall says, leaning down with a serious look, to let Zayn know he’s serious. “Catie. She’s into you. Let me know.” He winks.

Zayn nods and laughs because he knows it’s expected, but he swallows hard against the lump in his throat and sips at his beer and doesn’t look at anyone. Especially not Liam.

 

//

 

The first time he really notices O’Malley, it’s a Wednesday and it’s lunch and Zayn is sitting between Liam and Niall, trying to eat his sandwich but failing because he’s laughing at something Louis has said. Zayn laughs and leans against Liam without thinking because it’s something he always does, but he happens to glance over at the next table and there’s O’Malley watching him, eyes cold and narrowed, a slight sneer on his face. He’s definitely looking at Zayn because when Zayn doesn’t look away O’Malley shakes his head minutely, the look of disgust deepening. Zayn recognizes him, of course because he’s on the football team, but he’s never really _noticed_ him before.

Zayn nudges Niall under the table.

“What’s his problem?” Zayn tilts his chin slightly towards the other table.

Niall looks over and makes a sour face.

“Mark O’Malley. Why?”

“He keeps looking over here.” At me, he wants to add but doesn’t.

“Just ignore him. Liam had a run-in with him last week. He’s still pissed off.”

“What kind of run-in?” Zayn is puzzled, puzzled about the look on his face and also about the fact that Liam never mentioned it. At all.

Niall just shakes his head. “It was nothing. Team stuff, y’know?”

Zayn doesn’t know. “Was it like, bad or something?”

Niall finishes chewing and pauses, like he’s reluctant to talk about it, whatever it is. “He’s kind of an arse,” is all he says. “O’Malley, not Liam,” like he has to clarify but it makes Zayn’s lips twitch. “Just ignore him.” Another pause. “O’Malley, I mean—”

“Not Liam,” Zayn finishes, smiling for real this time and Niall smiles back.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Niall says, dismissing Zayn’s concern, so Zayn nods but happens to look in that direction again and O’Malley is _still_ watching, still smirking, and something about his expression makes Zayn feel cold and wrong. He shrugs and sits up straight, moving away from Liam’s side as much as possible but he knows his face is red and he looks down at the table, at his hands, at his food, anywhere but at O’Malley and certainly anywhere but at Liam.

Liam nudges him. “You gonna finish that?” he indicates Zayn’s half-eaten sandwich.

“Naw,” Zayn says, fingers twitching on his thighs. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks, mate,” Liam says, leaning into Zayn and grinning as he grabs it. “’m _starving_ ,” he says around a mouthful. Zayn nods and grins and meets O’Malley’s gaze one more time by accident. The other boy still hasn’t looked away and he’s shaking his head slightly, eyes cold cold cold, the kind of cold that seeps into Zayn’s bones and settles there, and he feels it, even hours after.

The second time goes like this:

It’s days later and Zayn has forgotten about him, pretty much, his thoughts caught up as always in words and art and boys and Liam. He’s at his locker, shoving binders in and pulling books out, not paying attention to the voices and bodies swirling around him. He has art next and he’s thinking about his project, his final project due in less than a month and he’s excited but nervous, too, because he’s proud of it and he knows his teacher is, too. And he’s thinking about Liam, of course, about how they’re going to be doing homework together the next night so he thinks about that, about Liam’s warm, safe body next to his and his scent and his laugh and his presence and he’s smiling just to himself when he feels a sudden jolt and he’s shoved hard, his shoulder banging into the locker next to him, books falling to the ground. He looks up, dazed.

It’s O’Malley and two others — teammates? School mates? Zayn can’t place them immediately — and they’re surrounding him, too close, watching, mouths twisted and eyes narrowed. O’Malley is laughing, one foot perched on a fallen book. Zayn is frozen, confused, silent.

“Where’s your boyfriend now?” This is what he hears over the rush of blood pulsing in his ears.

“My…what?” Zayn is truly puzzled. His entire body feels hot, on fire as he gathers his shit up off the floor. He yanks the book out from under O’Malley’s boot, the cover tearing a bit. O’Malley laughs again and shakes his head and the other two nudge one another like they’re in on the joke, like there’s some joke that’s been told that Zayn doesn’t get, and then they’re gone, the three of them, like they were never there. Zayn’s fingers are trembling, his whole body is trembling and he thinks everyone must have seen, everyone must have heard because it felt so big and so loud and he looks around but no one else seems to have even noticed it happened at all so he wonders if it even did.

He doesn’t tell anyone.

The third time it’s at practice, a warm and sunny afternoon and Zayn is sprawled on grass warm and prickly beneath his body. He’s lying on his side reading and it’s all so familiar and so safe — the shouts of his boys, the coach, the thudding of feet on the pitch, the high-fives and Zayn feels so safe because he’s forgotten everything else. He finishes his Coke and puts his book face down and looks up to find Liam immediately, stretching on the field, his gaze already aimed in Zayn’s direction, like he’s been watching for awhile. Zayn grins at Liam who grins back, open and honest and joyful and Zayn feels his face go hot and he ducks his head and hauls himself to his feet to toss his rubbish in the bin, feeling Liam’s eyes on him as he goes. He’s still smiling to himself when he feels himself run into someone with a jolt. He looks up, ready to apologize, and finds himself face to face with fucking O’Malley _again_ , dressed in practice clothes, damp with sweat. He’s looking at Zayn with that same look of disgust and disdain. He leans down close to Zayn’s ear as he pushes past, his shoulder jamming into Zayn’s.

“Faggot,” he hisses, just loud enough for Zayn to hear, then he keeps walking, back to the bench. Zayn is frozen in place, heart thudding a crazy beat all over his body, cold sweat beading along his hairline and down his spine. He continues his walk to the bin on numb legs and tosses his trash with numb hands. He stands there for a minute, collecting himself, willing his heartbeat to slow, thinking and thinking. He hears a shrill whistle, hears the coach yell for a water break and then there are warm, comforting hands on his shoulder and his elbow and a voice in his ear, but this one is soft and worried and full of something as far away as hate as imaginable.

“What happened?” Liam’s voice is low and urgent, angry, but not directed at Zayn, he knows. “What did he say to you?”

Zayn just shakes his head, actually unable to form coherent sounds. Liam’s grip tightens, like he wants to force it out of Zayn, but Zayn just shakes his head again, not knowing where to even start, and Liam exhales hugely and lets go completely.

“Listen to me,” he says, his face still close to Zayn’s ear. “Stay away from him, ok? He’s…he’s.” He scrubs a hand over his face and shakes his head.

“An asshole?” Zayn says in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own, and looks up at last, and he even attempts a smile, though it feels wobbly.

“Yeah,” Liam says, but he’s not smiling at all.

“I’ve heard,” Zayn says, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“From who?”

“Niall might have mentioned something.” Zayn shrugs. He can’t really stop shaking. “No big deal. People can be jerks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam says slowly. He chews his bottom lip. “And more than that. He’s just. If he says anything else to you, if he even looks at you, tell me, ok?”

Liam’s gaze is intense on Zayn’s face and Zayn nods slowly, the shock of the situation starting to ebb, just a bit, just by being in Liam’s presence.

“Promise me,” Liam says, his voice full of something Zayn can’t quite identify. “Just.”

“Yeah. Yeah ok, Liam,” Zayn says, suddenly tired of the whole thing. “Promise.”

Liam watches him a beat longer, then nods, apparently satisfied for now. “Twenty more minutes, ok? Then I can drive you home.”

Zayn nods and watches Liam walk back to the field where the boys, bright and shining, yelling and calling, wait for him.

 

//

 

“What are you working on?”

“English homework,” Zayn says. It’s hours after practice and they’re sprawled across the floor in Liam’s family room. Zayn was invited for dinner and now it’s getting late, almost time for Zayn to leave, but he doesn’t want to, not just yet. He can hear Liam’s parents talking over coffee in the kitchen, their voices low and warm. His sister Ruth, home from uni, is wandering about, texting and making plans with friends. The telly is on but muted, a footie game that Liam glances at from time to time as Zayn works. It’s all so safe and peaceful and _good_ and Zayn doesn’t want to break the spell just yet.

“I thought you were done?” And of course Liam remembers that because it’s exactly the type of thing Liam does. He pays attention and he cares and he notices things that no one else does. Zayn smiles.

“Yeah. This is my extra credit project. Neruda.”

Liam looks up. “The poet. Your favourite, right?”

Zayn smiles harder. _Of course._ “One of them. Yeah.”

Liam rolls onto his side, cups his head in his hand, the full weight of his attention on Zayn.

“Read me some.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Liam shrugs like it’s nothing, but there’s a flush in his cheeks. Zayn reaches over and ruffles his hair and Liam laughs and ducks his head a bit, embarrassed but pleased at the same time. “Yeah.”

Zayn lifts up his book, turns to a page. “I’ll make a poetry lover out of you yet.”

Liam lies down on his back and closes his eyes, his lips curling up slightly. “Sure, sure,” he says, nodding. And then, quietly, “Or maybe I just like the sound of your voice.”

Zayn looks at him and swallows hard and looks away and starts reading.

 

//

 

_underground_  
_slept_  
_the red-whiskered carrot,_  
_the vineyard_  
_withered the shoots_  
_whine once rose through,_

 

3) football/a drunken kiss/the morning after

 

It’s a perfect night for a game of footie, or so everyone keeps trying to convince Zayn. Uncle James is away for the weekend on business and the boys have invaded the premises, complete with sleeping bags and pillows — a pillow for Niall, anyways, who can’t sleep without his own, apparently — beer and crisps, hotdogs for dinner and pancakes for breakfast, the last courtesy of Harry, the only one among them who can actually follow a recipe without completely ruining it (“Did you remember chocolate chips?” says Niall hopefully just as Harry is pulling them out of his bag with a sweeping, grand gesture of _Ta Da!_ )

Now food and beer has been consumed and it’s time for football and Zayn is holding back, sipping his third (fourth?) beer and watching his boys as they tie laces and slap hands and race towards the pitch in the late, warm sunshine. Zayn follows behind reluctantly, wondering how he’s going to get out of this one, maybe he can offer to keep score, or take photos on his phone, or even just _cheer_ rather drunkenly from the sidelines, but no such luck, it seems, as Louis comes bounding back to him, arms outstretched, manic grin on his face.

“No spectator sport tonight, mate,” Louis declares, slapping Zayn on the back hard enough to make him wince. He grabs Zayn’s beer and finishes it off with gusto. “ _Everyone_ is playing.”

“Everyone,” Zayn sighs.

Louis whoops and Liam smiles at him. “It’ll be _fun_ ,” Louis declares.

“Fun,” Zayn echoes softly and Liam and Niall laugh. Harry wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes gently.

“We’ll take it easy on you, promise.” He eyes Louis sternly. “Right?”

“Of course!” Louis says. “Anything for our Zayn.”

“You can start in goal,” Harry offers magnanimously. “Just to get, you know, used to it.”

“I’m shite at football,” Zayn reminds everyone, though they hardly need reminding. He’s also slightly drunk which will either help or hinder the situation. He’s not sure which yet.

“Don’t worry,” Liam says, catching sight of Zayn’s apprehensive expression immediately.

“Too late,” says Zayn jumping up and down a few times and slapping his hands together. He’s seen football players do that before games on the telly so he hopes it will make him look even a little bit like he knows what he’s doing.

Liam laughs. “I’ll be right here.”

Zayn nods tightly, anxiety blooming in his chest. It’s stupid and he knows it’s stupid but he really _is_ shite at football. Like, hopeless. He wants to play and he wants to participate because, well, they all love this game and most importantly Liam loves this game, and the thought of looking like a complete idiot in front of the boys, in front of _Liam_ makes him feel slightly nauseous. He really shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

“Seriously. It’s just for fun, right?” Liam smiles, waiting for him to acknowledge. “Right?”

“Fun. Right. Okay.” Zayn jumps up and down a few more times, watching as Louis and Niall expertly pass the ball back and forth between them halfway down the field. They make it look so fucking _easy_. Anxiety again. Zayn breathes in and out. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out—

Liam smiles again, warm and comforting and completely present. “I’ll protect you.”

Zayn stops jumping, wills his heart to stop thumping. He even tries a smile. “Promise?” It comes out way more serious than he intended. But Liam doesn’t even blink.

Liam looks right at him. “Always.”

Zayn nods, swallows the dryness in his throat with a little click. “Okay.”

“Let’s _go_ ,” Zayn yells, loud enough that Louis hears and lets out a howl that makes everyone laugh and what the hell anyway.

And for a little while it actually is okay because Liam _does_ protect him, as best he can, anyway. And it is fun, and it is silly, because they’re all half-looped so it’s fun, it really is, and everyone is laughing, and Zayn even manages to save a goal, awkwardly and completely by accident, Niall screwing up and falling on his ass as he goes to kick. Zayn relaxes a bit and tries to stop worrying about how he looks and how idiotic he feels and tries to be in it, really in it, pretending for a short while that he’s part of their team, a valuable member who actually knows what he’s doing and is helping in some small way. He even laughs a few times, loud and wild as Louis tackles Harry to the ground for no reason at all, and Liam calls foul and everyone ignores him and it’s warm and fun and _good_.

It’s all silly and stupid and goofy and Liam is there the whole time. He’s always there, no more than 20 feet away from Zayn, deflecting the ball, diving and kicking and laughing and glancing at Zayn over his shoulder every couple of minutes to make sure he’s okay and still having fun.

And it’s just when Zayn is finally starting to really relax when suddenly Louis comes in from the side with the speed and agility he’s so well known for, an indistinct blur in Zayn’s peripheral vision. Niall is right behind him and they’re laughing but serious, too, because they’re serious about this goddamn game and fuck if Louis is going to let Niall catch him, even for fun. There’s a moment of pure panic as Zayn realizes that Liam is nowhere near him, nowhere near Louis, he’s actually off to the side drinking some fucking _water_ and Zayn actually puts up his hands in a truce motion, _time out time out I’m not ready_ , but it’s too late because Louis is on a mission and there’s no stopping him apparently. He’s got that _Look_ on his face Zayn has seen a thousand times before and Zayn tries to be the Hero, thinking he can actually block this ball coming at him at a million miles an hour, but of course he can’t. He doesn’t remember much except a lot of yelling and then a lot of movement and then a lot of pain. A whole fuckload of pain. Then he’s flat on his back and he can’t breathe. At all. He hears excited voices piling on top of one another (“Holy shit, Tommo!” “Right in the chest fuck!” “Did you fucking kill him?” “Hey at least he stopped it!” “Yeah with his fucking stomach!” “Is he breathing?” “Oh my god I’m so fucking sorry Zayn! I got carried away!”) and then one above them all. The loudest, angriest one.

“Jesus Christ, Louis!” It’s Liam, the fury and panic palpable in his shout. “What the fuck? That’s taking it easy?” And Liam hardly ever swears, so Zayn knows he’s serious. Then he’s kneeling by Zayn’s side, his hands dancing over Zayn’s chest, fingers at his neck, hands cupping the sides of his face. Zayn still can’t breathe and he can’t tell anyone, can’t tell Liam, that he can’t breathe because he can’t _talk_. He looks up into Liam’s panicked, frantic, beautiful beautiful face and thinks, quite calmly, _Okay then. Okay. Dying like this would be all right then, if I have to go._

He opens his mouth but can’t make a sound. Maybe he really is going to die. He reaches out for Liam’s hand and Liam catches it and grasps it in his own sweaty one that is moist but oddly cold. Zayn can tell he’s trying to be calm and reassuring while fighting back some kind of weird panic at the same time.

“Just relax Zayn. Relax. You got the wind knocked out of you. You’ll be fine. Really. Really. Just—”

Louis appears close over Liam’s shoulder, his face sweaty and red and also panicked, but in a different way. More of a guilty way. Like he’s going to get the shit kicked out of him kind of way. By Liam.

“I’m so sorry. Sorry Zayn. Oh my god. Are you okay?”

Zayn closes his eyes and wills himself to relax before he actually passes out and finally _finally_ he feels his chest unclench and his lungs inflate and he sucks in a huge crushing painful wonderful breath. He opens his eyes. They all wait. Louis is solemn and remorseful but still biting back a laugh at the same time, asshole. It’s all so stupid and embarrassing. Zayn would laugh too. If he could draw enough air.

“Zayn?” Liam says, his voice tentative.

“Fuck you, Tomlinson,” Zayn gasps and everyone laughs. Well, Liam smiles a bit, his lip caught in his teeth.

“Hallelujah,” Louis yells, high-fiving Niall. Harry still looks concerned, while Liam looks slightly terrified. “See? He’s tougher than he looks.” Louis claps Liam on the back, hard and Liam shrugs him off, face a thundercloud.

“I swear to god Louis—”

“He’s fine! He’s fine.” Louis peers at him. “You’re fine, right?”

Liam helps him sit upright, slowly, while Zayn relishes being able to breathe somewhat normally. It’s a wonderful thing, air. He peers up at them, focuses on Louis’ sweaty face.

“Have I told you lately how much I love this fucking game? Like seriously. Sign me the fuck up. I love this.”

Their laughter rings in his ears. He shakes his head, hands clutching his stomach, which hurts like hell. He can feel Liam’s broad hand on his back, rubbing gently. He really hopes he doesn’t throw up.

“Next time I’ll be in goal,” Harry promises. “Lou knows better than to pull that shit with me.” Which is true. And they all know it.

“Next time I’ll be watching from the bench, where I belong,” Zayn wheezes.

“You were doing great,” Liam says and he sounds like he means it. “You were. Sorry it got ruined.” He glares at Louis, who happily gives him the finger.

“Okay everybody.” Niall claps his hands loudly. “Enough fun and games for one night, I think. Let’s go get drunk.”

“Yes,” Zayn says, breathing deeply because he can. “I support that idea. Fully.”

Liam sighs and shakes his head. He manages a smile, but continues to watch Zayn carefully as he pulls him to a standing position and waits until Zayn is ready to actually move his legs and walk without assistance. The others wander ahead, laughing and shouting and singing and trying to trip each other as they head towards the house.

“Are you really ok?” Liam asks quietly, when no one is listening. “I mean, really? You can tell me. I know that hurts like hell. It’s happened to me more times than I can count. It’s happened to _all_ of us. Even Louis.”

Zayn nods and smiles, a genuine smile at last. “Yeah. Gonna hurt for a week I reckon, but I’m ok.” He stretches his arms over his head and grimaces a bit. “Tougher than I look, you know.”

“I know Zaynie,” Liam says, his voice serious. “I know that.”

Zayn slings an arm over Liam’s broad shoulders and tugs him close, presses his nose into the side of Liam’s head. He smells like sweat and salt, sweetly summer. Zayn grins and kisses him, the short hairs there tickling his lips.

 

//

 

Because Niall promised and because it’s Tradition, Louis makes a grand show of removing every article of sweaty clothing and bowing to everyone, arse out, before cannonballing into the newly opened, heated pool completely naked. Everyone cheers and Harry strips down completely, too, of course, and jumps in, cannonball, too. Of course. The two will splash and dive and jump and flip for 20 minutes before retreating to a corner to kiss lazily until it’s not lazy anymore and then steal away to one of the guest rooms. Niall, Liam and Zayn are more conservative, for the most part, depending on the amount and type of alcohol consumed beforehand.

Tonight Liam strips down to his boxers and executes a perfect dive into the deep end, barely a ripple in sight. He swims underwater for a full length before emerging, droplets scattering in a crazy, diamond arc around his head. Niall and Zayn flop on the grass beside the pool, loose-limbed, beers in hand, and talk about plans for the summer, about school, about movies, girls, life.

Zayn listens absently to Niall’s happy chatter and watches Liam at the same time, watches the muscles flex and bend in Liam’s back, how the light plays across his skin as he kicks and strokes from one end of the pool to the other. Zayn licks his lips and then realizes he’s licked his lips. Shit.

Liam floats for awhile on his back, staring up at the sky and Zayn keeps watching, wonders what he’s thinking, wonders if he has the courage to ask. Louis and Harry have completed the lazy kissing portion of their swim session and are pulling each other up and out of the pool and making a mad dash to the house when Liam finally emerges, grabs a towel and heads straight to the cooler for a beer. He grins at the boys as he passes, ruffles Zayn’s hair lightly and then flops down beside them with a sigh.

“All right there, Payno?” Niall asks. His voice is sleepy, contented. Zayn senses Liam’s nod more than sees it. He also sees Liam finish the first beer quickly before rising to grab a second.

Liam doesn’t drink. Well, he rarely drinks, so when he does he tends to get rather wasted, which had led to some rather unfortunate and embarrassing incidents that are constantly brought out for examination, ridicule and scrutiny.

_“Remember that time he fell in the pool?”_

_“With his_ phone _?”_

_“Remember when he tripped going_ up _the stairs and almost broke his wrist?”_

_“Remember when he tripped going _down_ the stairs and _did_ break his wrist?”  
_

Zayn wonders if anything noteworthy will happen tonight as Liam reaches for his third in half an hour.

The evening passes in increments, with the three boys talking in turn, telling jokes, sharing stories, laughing at stupid shit, asking each other to cook more hotdogs (“You do it,” “No you do it.”), but no one has the energy to get up. Zayn’s chest and stomach are aching with a steady burn — war wounds, he tells himself — but the alcohol helps. He isn’t sure how much he himself has actually had, but he’s loose and relaxed and tipsy, but not completely drunk, not quite yet. It gets darker, and darker still. They don’t move. Zayn’s lying on his back on the grass, counting stars. He’s actually counting stars, or attempting to, safe and secure, with Niall on one side and Liam on the other. Harry and Louis have magically reappeared and are in the pool again, paddling about and talking in low voices. They’re so stupidly in love, Zayn realizes. He looks back up to the sky with a new purpose. He even uses his fingers, to keep track.

“I’m gonna help,” Liam announces when he understands what Zayn is doing.

Zayn nods. “Okay. You start over there —” He points vaguely. “And I’ll continue along here.” He points again. Liam nods. There is near silence for awhile except for breathing and occasional splashing and Harry and Louis murmuring and the night sky waiting.

“What are you up to?” Niall asks at last, voice slurred.

“Uh. Forty-two.” Liam says, finger jabbing upwards. “Oh. Wait. Shit. Thanks Niall. I lost count.” He sighs. “Maybe I’m drunk.”

“Nah,” Niall says, encouraging. “But even if you are, ok.” He shrugs, takes another sip of his drink, smiles. Everything is soft.

Zayn glances at Liam, at his eyes searching the sky, his lips silently counting. He looks very serious and very determined. Zayn smiles hard and presses his forehead into Liam’s shoulder, making him laugh.

“Shit. I lost count again.”

Zayn pokes him lightly in the ribs and Liam giggles. He actually giggles. Jesus. Zayn laughs.

“You _are_ drunk.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Maybe. Yeah.” Liam sighs deeply and closes his eyes, his lips curved in a small smile. Zayn stares until he realizes he’s staring and he stops. He turns his head to Niall.

“What do you think, Niall?” he asks. No answer. Zayn pushes up on his elbows. Niall’s head is turned to the side and he’s snoring lightly. All right then. He glances at the pool. Louis has Harry pushed up in the corner and is snogging him slowly and intently. All _right_ then. Zayn lies back down, his hand brushing Liam’s. Liam startles a bit, then entwines his fingers with Zayn’s. It isn’t the first time they’ve held hands over the years, not by a long shot, but this feels different. It feels deliberate, intimate. It feels deeper.

“Zaynie,” Liam says, his voice thick and slow. His eyes are still closed, his lips still curved. “You know you’re my favourite, yeah?”

Zayn smiles and nods because it’s easy and he wants it to be true so much. “Yeah. I better be.”

Liam laughs at that. “You are. You always have been.”

Zayn nods. It feels so good to hear it even if it might not be true. He knows Liam is drunk so it’s fine. “Good.”

Now Liam is up on his elbows. Zayn can hear him but he keeps his eyes closed. He’s so tired and it’s so comfortable and warm here under the stars. He can hear Liam breathing, can hear the rustle of his towel, can smell the chlorine of the pool water and beneath that, Liam. His own individual smell, the one he’s known for years. Zayn smiles a bit, picturing Liam’s soft, drunken face and tousled hair. He’s still smiling when Liam kisses him. It’s feather light and soft as air, Liam’s lips pressed against Zayn’s and it’s the best most natural thing in the world. They don’t move and they just breathe together for a moment and just as Zayn is about to reach up and touch Liam’s cheek he says, oh so quietly, “Liam,” and Liam jerks back, eyes fluttering wide open.

“Oh. Oh my god. Zayn.” Liam pulls even further away like he’s been scalded. His eyes are wide and suddenly, painfully sober. “Oh my god. I’m. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Zayn sits up a bit, heart hammering. What. What? Was it so horrible?

“You just looked so.” Liam stops. He sits bolt upright now, head in his hands. “That was. It was. I shouldn’t have.”

Zayn doesn’t know what to say. “Okay,” is what he comes up with. “It’s okay.”

“Oh my god,” Liam says again, and it Zayn’s chest hurts again, just as much as before. He presses a hand to it, presses, presses. He keeps pressing.

“It’s okay,” Zayn says again. In the pool both Louis and Harry have stopped what they’re doing. That’s how bad it is. They’ve stopped kissing and touching and splashing and talking and they’ve turned and they’re watching from the shadows.

“Hey,” Louis says softly.

Liam’s head snaps up like he’s forgotten where he is. His eyes are wide, wild. He sniffs. He wipes a hand under his nose and goes to stand up. His legs are wobbly and he almost falls. He doesn’t fall.

“What’s happening?” Louis says. His voice carries. It always does and Zayn winces because it seems so _loud_.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says. He’s facing the pool. He’s not even looking at Zayn and Zayn isn’t looking at him. He’s staring up at the sky, at all those stars. Forty three. Forty four. “I’m _sorry_ ,” he says again. Zayn sighs.

“Yeah Liam. I get it,” he says. He says it quietly, though, and he doesn’t even know if Liam hears.

But maybe he does because Liam sighs and shrugs, one-shoulder, and gestures vaguely in Zayn’s direction and then walks away.

“What’s happening?” Louis calls again, louder than anything. Liam ignores him. He keeps walking. Niall rouses, pushes up on his elbows.

“Hey,” he says, blinking at Zayn. He smiles. “What are we up to?”

“Forty five,” Zayn says to Niall. It’s automatic. His lips are numb. He looks at Louis. He looks at the sky.

“What is _happening_?” Louis says one more time because why not.

“Nothing,” Zayn says louder than Louis, louder than everyone. Louder than his thudding heart. “Nothing at all.”

 

//

 

He can’t sleep after that, of course. Not with every nerve in his body sharp and alert and some sort of adrenalin pulsing through his veins. Adrenalin? Is that what this awful pain is? Whatever. He doesn’t even know. What he does know is that Liam disappeared and doesn’t reappear until breakfast, looking as tired as Zayn feels. The three of them are slouched in kitchen chairs as Harry mixes and mashes and prances about the kitchen with far too much energy for 10 in the morning. Zayn is resting his chin in his hands on the kitchen table, watching Harry’s sure and practiced and joyful movements. It’s rather hypnotic and fairly soothing. He doesn’t know where Liam even slept last night. He thought they were going to share a room as usual — his and Liam’s shit were tossed in the third guest room as always but when Zayn stumbled in at 3 a.m. everything was there as it was left and he flopped onto the bed and dozed intermittently for a few hours, tossing and turning and unable to get comfortable or force his thoughts to stop racing — and maybe Liam slept in Niall’s room or maybe on a couch somewhere. He could have gone _home_ for all Zayn knows and at this point he’s not putting anything past anyone. What a weird fucking _night_.

But suddenly Liam is there, right in front of them, sleepy and soft in grey sweats, hair a mess. He grins and waves shyly at everyone, asks Harry if he needs help, of course, (“I’m good mate, thanks,”) then slips into the empty chair across from Zayn. He ducks his head and rakes a hand through his already messy hair, and then glances at Zayn quickly. Zayn still has his chin in his hands on the table, too weary to move. He meets Liam’s eyes and lifts one corner of his mouth. He doesn’t have a clue what is going on but it’s _Liam_ so he can’t ignore him. He just can’t.

Fuck.

“Pancakes!” Harry announces grandly, proudly, slapping bare plates in front of each of them and a pile of food in the middle so they can all help themselves. It smells amazing but Zayn’s stomach is a mess, churning with anxiety and a sourness that has seeped in through his pores.

“They look amazing, mate,” Liam says and he sounds sincere, helping himself to two immediately, like nothing in the world is wrong, like last night never happened, like chocolate chip pancakes with the boys on this particular morning is the most normal thing in the world.

And suddenly they’re all digging in, laughing and chattering, even Zayn, even though he has absolutely no appetite and all he wants to do is go home, home to his family and his room and his bed, bury himself under the covers and sleep for about a hundred years. Instead he shovels forkfuls into his mouth and smiles and laughs and even makes eye contact with Liam, who smiles tentatively and Zayn thinks maybe, maybe, things are ok, even though he knows they’re kinda not.

“Thanks, Hazza,” he hears himself saying as he wipes his mouth with a napkin, earning a heartfelt smile from Louis, and a dimpled grin from Harry and a _look_ from Liam. Niall is still too busy shoveling his face full to say much at all, except for complimentary hums and groans and pretty much anything Harry is going to take as encouragement from now until forever.

Zayn’s stomach is churning and he’s worried he might throw up in front of everyone so he finally shoves back from the table, stands and goes to leave. He has to get out of there, even if it’s for a brief, solitary trip to the loo where he can splash cold water on his face and not talk to anyone for five minutes. He’s in the hallway outside the kitchen when Liam catches up to him, grabs his elbow, pulls him up short. The fight goes out of Zayn then. He doesn’t even care. He just wants to get it all over with, whatever it might be.

And Liam knows, too. He won’t look directly at Zayn and his fingers bite a little too sharply into the flesh on Zayn’s arm. He clears his throat, the muscles working hard. “Hey. I just wanted to apologize again for last night. Really. I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have done that.”

And then their eyes do meet and Liam looks like he’s going to _cry_ or something. And why? Was it all so horrible? So unbearably bad?

Zayn feels suddenly, achingly sad. He shrugs, hoping he doesn’t start _blubbering_ or something ridiculous. “It’s ok. Really. I —”

“I mean,” Liam plows on, determined to finish. He keeps his head slightly lowered and his gaze is all over the place. But he keeps finding Zayn’s face, like he’s checking his expression. “You’re my mate. You’re my _best_ mate in the world, right? I don’t ever want to. I don’t. I wouldn’t want to _wreck_ that. By doing anything.”

He finishes on a low, miserable note. Zayn decides to put him out of his agony.

“You were drunk,” Zayn says and his stomach churns more. Liam’s head snaps up at that and there’s a flash of something Zayn can’t identify in his eyes. He looks like he’s about to cry again, which is fitting, because Zayn is halfway there himself. “It’s ok. We all. Do stupid stuff. You know. When we. You know.”

“Stupid stuff.” Liam nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah. Pretty drunk.” He swallows hard and smiles, but his mouth trembles at the edges. Zayn can’t take it anymore. He forces his lips into a grin and punches Liam in the arm.

“Another fucking story for the lads, right?” he says and immediately regrets it when Liam’s face falls again. “I’m. I’m just kidding. Really.”

“I know it’s just—”

“Anyone up for a post-breakfast swim?” Louis asks loudly from the doorway. “Jesus I’m hungover. I need water. And nakedness. And moderate exercise. Now!”

Liam turns easily, face wide and open and smiling. “Sure. Right there with you.” He grins back at Zayn, easy as anything, before walking away.

And that’s pretty much the end of that.

 

//

 

_the cabbage_  
_devoted itself_  
_to trying on skirts,_  
_scented the world,_  
_and right there in the garden_  
_the meek_  
_artichoke,_  
_girded for battle,_

 

4) school/awkardness/hangout/party#2

 

And life goes on and they go to school and smile at one another at school and eat lunch together at school and Zayn comes to yet another practice and reads his book and watches them run and kick and yell and he high-fives everyone afterwards, including Liam because that’s what he _does_ , and everything is _fine_ except it’s not, at all and Zayn doesn’t have a clue how to fix it because he’s not even sure what’s wrong.

But something is definitely wrong. They talk and they text like always. But it’s different. It’s. Different.

_hey_

_hey back. Good practice_

_thanks :) thanks for coming_

_haha I always come. Come watch I mean. Right? I always do. So yeah. No problem_

And:

_need any help with homework?_

_I think I’m ok? If I do I’ll let you know. Thanks_

_ok_

_thanks though_

_ok_

And then:

_u okay_

_sure why_

_no reason. Just checking. You were kinda quiet today so just wanted to make sure_

_yeah I’m good thanks :)_

_ok. Good_

And Liam goes on dates. A lot of dates. A lot of dates with girls. And Zayn encourages this. Well, not exactly. He doesn’t _discourage_ it but he certainly doesn’t encourage it. At least he doesn’t try. 

They still sit next to one another. They still laugh and joke around. They’re still best mates. But sometimes. Sometimes, Zayn notices a hesitation that wasn’t there before. Liam’s hand brushing against his accidentally and Liam pulling back too fast, his eyes meeting Zayn’s to what. What? Make sure Zayn isn’t upset? Offended? Or when Liam moves close to share something meant only for the two of them, he doesn’t come quite as close as before, his lips almost too far from Zayn’s ear to hear him clearly. Zayn’s heart flutters painfully in his chest as he tries not to notice how slightly off-kilter they really are.

“So,” Niall says one afternoon during a home game against a particularly rough team. He elbows Zayn in the side, hard. “You and Payno.”

They’re watching the game together. Niall’s pulled a groin muscle (and oh and the teasing about _that_ ) and is sprawled next to Zayn with an ice pack, sunglasses on, enjoying the sunshine.

“What about him.” Zayn doesn’t take his eyes off the field.

“Not him. You and him. You two. Together like.”

All the spit dries up in Zayn’s mouth. “What do you mean?” he finally asks, hoping it sounds nonchalant. He knows it doesn’t. Niall knows it too.

“Just. I dunno. Noticed you two aren’t your usual, jovial selves.”

“That’s a big word there, Niall,” Zayn says. He licks his lips. “You sure you know what it means?”

He’s pretty sure Niall rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “We’ve all noticed, though. Not just me. Like since the weekend. At my uncle’s. Yeah?”

Zayn shakes his head. He should have known it wouldn’t go unnoticed by this lot. They all know one another so well. _Too_ well. He sighs and shakes his head minutely.

“It’s nothing. Really. Just.” He pauses. Just what. “A misunderstanding,” is what he settles on at last.

Niall looks at him then, even raises his glasses so Zayn can see his eyes. “Misunderstanding. A kiss is a misunderstanding.”

Zayn looks at him, mouth falling slightly open.

“Yeah, he told Lou. Or rather, Lou guessed. Or dragged it out of him. Either way. Yeah.”

Zayn can’t speak, can’t make his mouth move in any kind of functional motion.

“He fancies you. You must know that,” Niall says and his voice is kind. “And Lou is convinced you fancy him, as well.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Zayn says at last. He tries to sound as forceful as possible. “He. It.” He shakes his head. “No. He doesn’t. You don’t get it.” He closes his eyes for longer than a blink. “He was _drunk_. We’re mates. It’s fine.” He pauses, then adds, oh so quietly, “It’s never going to happen anyway.”

Niall slides his glasses down again, pats Zayn’s thigh softly. “Ok, Zayn. It’s ok then. As long as you’re both happy.”

Happy. Zayn almost laughs out loud at that. He can’t recall feeling less happy in a long time.

“I guess.” Niall starts again. Zayn can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “I guess I just didn’t know, is all. Until Lou told me. I can be kinda. Oblivious?”

“Another good word, Niall. You been reading a thesaurus lately?” Zayn tries to smile.

“I didn’t know,” Niall barrels on, determined now. “I didn’t _see_ how you both felt and there I was making stupid jokes and trying to hook you up with girls and shit and I’m sorry.”

Zayn freezes. “Niall. I’m not.” He swallows. “I like girls.” This comes out as a whisper.

“Do you?” Niall tilts his head. He seems genuinely curious. He shrugs like _whatever_. “Ok. _And_ you like Liam.”

Zayn shakes his head in utter frustration, all words escaping him now. Why were they having this conversation? Why couldn’t everything just go back to normal, like before, when Zayn admired Liam from afar and pretended how he felt was just a stupid teenage crush that would go the fuck away eventually.

“I like girls,” he says again, more forcefully this time, trying to convince Niall, trying to convince himself. “And you can, you know, do what you suggested, that time. You can totally hook me up with them. Girls. If you want.”

He can’t look Niall in the face now, instead focuses on the boys on the field, and not one of them in particular. Definitely not that _one_.

Niall sighs and touches his hand. “Look. I’m just saying it’s ok. And you can, like, talk to me if you ever want. About, you know, any of it.”

Zayn nods and blinks back sudden, hot tears.

“Thanks,” he says and Niall just nods and they drop it, thank god, and Niall makes some random comments about how Louis runs like a wounded hippo when he’s tired and Harry’s hair is almost long enough now for a ponytail and maybe they should shave it off when he’s sleeping — just stuff to make Zayn smile — and Zayn does smile as his eyes roam the field and he tries to forget the entire conversation they just had and he’s not really paying attention to anything when Liam collides with another player and goes down hard, clutching his knee and rolling in pain.

Liam never dives ever and Zayn knows this because he’s been watching Liam play this ridiculous game for a million years. Liam is the least dramatic player in the world, so for him to be writhing on the pitch clutching his leg means he’s really in pain. Zayn’s heart lurches in his chest and he and Niall struggle to their feet together, along with most of the crowd and the teammates watching.

Liam lays flat on his back as Coach examines him, and it seems to take forever but he finally nods and pats Liam’s leg like everything is ok. Liam accepts Louis’ outstretched hand to get up, limping a bit, shaking it out, walking it off, stopping periodically to rub his shin and letting out a breath before nodding and picking up speed again. Louis turns then and finds Zayn’s gaze and winks and gives him a thumbs up. Zayn sits down before he falls down.

They win, but Zayn doesn’t even remember the rest of the game, his thoughts swirling around Niall’s words and Louis’ confession and Liam getting hurt and Zayn’s entire messed up life. The boys are in good spirits when they come off the field and head towards the parking lot, laughing and teasing and back-slapping and generally being idiots as usual.

“How’s the leg, Liam?” Harry asks. Liam gives a little hop and nods.

“It’s ok thanks.”

“Thought we’d be carting you off to hospital, mate,” Niall says.

“Yeah, along with Zayn,” Louis says.

“What do you mean?” Liam asks immediately, looking at Zayn.

“Well our mate Zayn almost had a heart attack,” Niall chimes in, elbowing Zayn in the ribs. Zayn shies away and shakes his head.

“What do you mean?” Liam asks again, concern and worry and laughter bound together in his voice.

“Oh, Zayn was just worried, that’s all. Thought you were really hurt, not just faking it like usual,” Louis says laughing and Liam punches his arm.

“Shut it,” Zayn says.

“’Aw Zaynie, ‘sit true?” Liam moves closer, nudging Zayn with his shoulder and smiling shyly. “You were worried for me?” His voice is teasing but there’s something else there as well, something that makes Zayn’s cheek flush. He’s about to answer, say something teasing back, but Louis’ voice overtakes them all.

“Naw. He was just worried he’d lose his ride if you actually broke your leg.”

And everyone laughs, of course, even Liam, and even Zayn, because it is funny, and they both try very hard to not look at each other while they laugh about the fact that Zayn actually cares enough about Liam that he briefly considered running onto the field himself to make sure he was ok.

And it’s things like that. Things that Zayn doesn’t particularly want to think about too hard. Things like what happened that night at the pool, under the velvet sky with all the stars and anything about to happen.

And it’s only late at night, under the cover of the darkness in his room, when Zayn allows himself to remember the kiss. And he might close his eyes and remember everything, the smell of Liam’s cologne, his sweat, his breath hot and damp on his cheek, the quiet thunder in his chest and the scrape of his nails against his cheek, his neck. The problem is that Zayn remembers it all. He remembers _everything_ and then he lets his hand slide down his chest to his waist to the tops of his pants and then beneath. Twitching fingers finding his hardening cock as thoughts of Liam and his face and his scent and his laugh and his _everything_ flooding his mind and then—

_you still awake_

Zayn’s hand stills on his cock, face flaming in shame. Like Liam would _know_ what he was doing, what he was thinking right at this exact moment.

_sorry if your not_

Zayn bites his lip and closes his eyes. Liam.

_I’ll stop texting you now. Hope you have a good sleep_

Liam.

_hey I’m still awake why are you_

_heyyyy. No reason. Just couldn’t sleep I guess. Hope I didn’t wake you up_

_no. just reading_

Zayn turns on his side and clutches his phone and suddenly aches to add more. To just keep typing and typing, pouring everything in his heart out onto the tiny, inadequate screen and send it off into the space between them.

_oh ok. Just wanted to say goodnight._

Zayn types _everything ok???_ before he can think better of it.

There’s a long pause before the reply finally comes, and when it does Zayn is almost asleep, as he often is during these late-night sessions between them.

_yeah. Course. Night zaynie_

 

//

 

Then it’s another Friday night but they’re gathered in Louis’ basement for a change (Uncle James is home with “company”) and there’s Coke and bad telly and Zayn is sandwiched between Niall and Harry and laughing at one of their stupid jokes but isn’t really paying attention to the conversation as it goes on around him because Liam is seated alone looking primped and polished and positively gorgeous and nervous and ready to bolt and Zayn can’t figure out what’s going on when suddenly Harry looks right at Liam and says:

“So, Sophia Smith, huh?”

And suddenly everyone is looking at Liam, who is looking steadfastly at the floor.

“Sly dog,” Louis says.

“Wait. What?” Zayn says, feeling stupid. “Sophia. What happened to Danielle?”

“Stay with us, Zayn,” Louis says, snapping his fingers. “Danielle is old news. Sophia is who it’s all about these days.” His voice is bright and cheery as always but he’s watching Zayn’s face and he’s watching Liam’s face and he’s talking fast and loud, fast and loud even for Louis.

“Since when?” Zayn is saying these things out loud, apparently, for everyone to hear.

“It’s nothing serious,” Liam insists, but Harry nudges his side and grins.

“That’s not what she thinks,” he says, and Liam rolls his eyes.

“So, third date, right? And you’re taking her where?”

And all the air is sucked out of Zayn’s lungs justlikethat because what?

Zayn waits for the punch line but Liam just turns red and fidgets and pushes at his hair and clears his throat and shrugs a little and _what_?

“I dunno. Was thinking dinner. Nothing too fancy. And maybe a movie. I don’t even know. She said she’s up for anything.”

“You have a date?” he manages at last because what the fuck? Because this isn’t the usual routine. Not the casual hang out party make out go home never hang out again kind of thing. This is a Third Date. An actual serious actual date.

“He didn’t tell you?” Niall says, not taking his eyes off the telly but his shoulders are tense, pulled up high and tight. Zayn can feel the tension from where he sits. “They’ve been out a few times now. Thought we all knew.” He lets out a breath and glances at Zayn. His expression is kind. Kind and regretful. Zayn can barely stand it.

“It’s nothing serious. Really.” And Liam sounds like he’s pleading almost. Zayn sees Harry and Louis exchange a glance but he can’t decipher it, not right now because he’s still processing, he’s still _catching up_.

“Ok mate,” Harry says, patting his knee in mock sympathy. Louis smirks but he’s still watching Zayn.

And Zayn bites back a laugh and then kind of strangles it because yeah. Liam has a date and not just any date. Liam has a Third Date with a girl he hasn’t even heard about yet. A date. Not just hanging out. Not just some random stupid party. A legitimate date.

And she’s up for _anything_.

Zayn does laugh then, a kind of hybrid cough hiccup that makes Niall do a double-take and Louis glances quickly at Zayn with a strange expression on his face, like he feels sad or bad suddenly there are too many people looking at him.

“It’s just dinner,” Liam says rather miserably and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Sounds awesome, mate,” Zayn says with a too-bright voice and Liam nods and pulls his lips together and Zayn tries to _breathe_.

“Yeah. The two of you are just _awesome_ with how things are going right now. It’s all just fucking _awesome_ ,” Louis says bright and happy.

Zayn makes a kind of spastic movement that everyone pretends not to notice, especially Liam. Louis wraps an arm around Zayn and hugs him close. Zayn sinks into his side. Louis kisses the side of his head loud and hard then turns to Liam.

“Anyway, good on you, mate,” he says to Liam, slapping his shoulder. “You go do that. _We_ are going to party without you, then.”

“What party?” says Zayn.

“What party?” says Liam.

“Party! _The_ party!” Louis says again. “Henry Keeler’s house. We’re all going.”

“All of you?” Liam asks. He sounds confused. He glances at Zayn.

“Sure. Why not.” Louis grabs Zayn in another tight hug and Niall laughs and they all laugh except for Zayn and Liam. Then Louis pauses, a bit hesitant. “You’re in Zayn, right?”

Zayn looks up at last, arranging his features into what he hopes is a casual, mildly eager expression. He shrugs and _fuckit_ He’s so tired and he’s so done. “Sure. I mean. Why the fuck not, right? I’ll go.” He pauses, gathers speed and guts and gusto even because he kind of feels sick and there’s nowhere for that sick to _go_ except out through his mouth, with words. “Maybe I’ll even get _lucky_. Right, Niall?”

Everyone looks mildly surprised and Louis chuckles softly and waggles his eyebrows and Harry offers a high-five and Niall goes red and looks at Liam quickly but shrugs and says, “Well, I’ve been _offering_ to help for ages, you know.” Zayn knows they’ve all been caught off guard and he almost doesn’t care so he sticks his chin out and looks right at Liam who looks a bit shell-shocked.

“Zayn’s going to a party! Willingly! Yes!” Louis fist pumps the air and Harry cheers and Zayn finally breaks eye contact with Liam who is watching him carefully.

“Well, maybe I’ll catch up with you later,” Liam says, and it’s almost a question but not quite.

“Sure. Whatever,” Zayn says and he sounds so _casual_ and normal about the whole thing. He’s really quite proud of himself. “Bring your date, even.”

Liam nods once, quick and tight, stands and straightens his shirt. “Ok. Well. I’m. I’m gonna go then.”

Louis jumps up and grabs him in bear hug and smacks his cheek loud. Zayn gives a tight grin and glances at Liam quickly and looks away before Liam can make eye contact. Or maybe he does. He’s not quite sure.

“Bye Liam!” Harry yells and everyone echoes it and Liam ducks his head and does a weird wave and then he’s gone and Zayn is alone with the boys and his beer and he downs it faster than he ever has and then he wants another, and another. And another. Fuck. Why not?

“Have fun,” Zayn calls belatedly and Liam doesn’t reply. The door slams shut.

Louis watches him carefully, smiling and slinging a heavy arm over Zayn’s shoulders and pushes his mouth close to his ear.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s just a bit stressed at the moment.”

“About what?”

“O’Malley got kicked off the team today,” Niall supplies, taking a long drink from his Coke.

Zayn’s stomach swoops. “Why? What happened?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nothing for you to worry about. Just team stuff. He’s a fucking wanker and Liam took care of it. Now!” He claps his hands briskly. “You ready then, mate?”

And Zayn shrugs, sure.

“It’s gonna be _epic_ ,” Niall assures.

Sure.

Why not.

And they’re off.

 

//

 

The party is everything Zayn hates, everything he’s always hated — it never changes. It’s loud and hot and frantic and _loud_ and everyone seems to be drunk or high and it stinks. Literally. The sharp scent of alcohol and the cloying, heavy odour of vomit and sweat underneath. He sighs and closes his eyes and sways a little because _he’s_ drunk too, right? What the fuck is he _doing_? Again? But then he thinks about Liam and his _date_ and them together and thinks, not this time.

This time it will be different, he decides. This time he’ll do it differently. No feeling sorry for himself, no questions, no regrets. It sounds like a bad romance novel, but it’s okay.

He nods, more to himself than anything, and Niall, pressed up beside him, sees. He grins.

“C’mon, mate,” he says, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. He raises an eyebrow as if _you okay?_. And then, with a careless grin, “Let’s do this.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. He raises an eyebrow in return. He attempts a careless grin of his own. And then, “Fuck everything.”

Niall laughs but it’s a bit disjointed. “That’s the spirit.”

Niall merges into the crowd and Zayn follows behind as closely as he can, absorbing the heat and the noise and the energy and throbbing beat as much as he can. He closes his eyes and spins and spins, not thinking at all about Liam and where he might be and what he might be doing with someone else _right now_.

He accepts shots and groping hands from girls and he smiles and smiles and smiles and Niall’s red-flushed sweaty face is pressed tight against his ear and his lips forming words and phrases: _you ok? Everything all right? you need a break? You need more booze? Hey man I love you you know that right?_

And Zayn nods and smiles and dances and drinks and smiles and there are beautiful girls who seem interested in him and he just nods and smiles and keeps dancing and keeps an eye on Niall even as he catches a glimpse of Harry and Louis snogging lazily against a wall close to where he jumps and gyrates and oh _god_ what he wouldn’t give to be them, to be him and Liam, hot bodies pressed close together swaying and swaying and—

“Hey,” Niall announces sometime later — how much later? Zayn doesn’t know —he’s not sure of much right now. He knows he’s on a couch. He’s been here for five minutes. He’s been here forever. He feels fine. He feels awful.

“Look who I found.” Niall sounds very pleased with himself, more than usual even. He’s wearing a bright green hat and a bright green lei. Zayn can’t stop staring. Then he realizes Niall has his arm around someone. A female someone. “It’s Catie!” he announces. Catie. Who’s Catie?

“Oh. Yeah. Hi,” Zayn says, squinting up at the two of them. He feels fine. It’s Catie Leroy. The one. The one who. Oh. Yeah. Niall smiles and nods again and shrugs a shoulder like he’s checking in, like he’s not sure but wants to do good and wants to make sure it’s all ok. And Zayn is like why the fuck not? It’s been kind of his mantra this entire night. He smiles and nods in return and then there’s a warm body sidling up against him, one that smells of cinnamon and floral shampoo and Zayn slumps back into the cushions and just lets everything _go_.

“Hi,” she says, her voice bright and alive and welcoming and Zayn looks at her soft brown hair and soft brown eyes and warm smile and thinks, yeah. Yeah. It could be like this. It could be so _easy_. Liam is fucking doing it, so why shouldn’t he? It’s what any red-blooded young British male should be doing on a Friday night, right? Fuck it. Zayn takes another sip and lets his mouth form itself into what he hopes is a normal smile. It must work, because the girl smiles back and grabs his arm and pulls him up and into the throng of dancers and Zayn just lets it happen. The crush of bodies surrounds him in an instant and there’s a moment of panic but then he just closes his eyes and succumbs to it. It could be so easy, he thinks, to just let go like this all the time, to not think, to not analyze, to not worry _all the fucking time._

“Hey,” Catie says, her mouth hot and wet against his ear. “You’re cute. Did Niall tell you I thought you were cute? Because I told him to tell you. Did he tell you?”

Zayn nods, not trusting his voice.

“Good. Because I think you’re—”

“Cute. I get it,” Zayn says, trying to smile. She takes his hand and tugs him away from the crowd. He follows her without protest even though he’s thinking _but we just got here_. He wonders vaguely if they’re going to hook up but his brain can’t properly process that thought from beginning to end. He’s had proper sex with a girl only once and it was a disaster, an embarrassing one-night event that he can hardly remember. Everything else has been drunken fumblings in the shadows of his backyard, or at parties exactly like this one, meaningless and mildly pleasurable, but utterly forgettable. Catie pushes him against the worn sofa where he thinks they were just sitting like minutes ago but ok and he falls stupidly and awkwardly and she climbs into his lap. This is what people do, he thinks. This. Don’t fight it, he thinks. He puts his hands around her waist because that’s what you’re supposed to do, he thinks. She’s warm and solid and a comforting presence but he’s not even sure what she looks like and then she’s kissing him, messy and wet and drunken and it’s everything he remembers from every other hookup in his life. He kisses her back as best he can, trying to not use too much tongue, because that’s gross, and he keeps his eyes closed and she pushes him back further into the sofa which he now realizes smells a bit like cat urine.

“Good god, Zayn,” says an all-too-familiar voice, loud and cutting through everything else. Catie pulls back and they both look up at Louis. Oh. And Liam. Both of them, standing there watching the show. “Zayn,” Louis says again. He sounds both puzzled and slightly disappointed. “What are you doing, mate?”

“What does it look like?” Zayn says, feeling the weight of Liam’s eyes on him.

“Well, it looks to me like you and Liam are playing some fucked up game of who can act the most hetero tonight, that’s what it looks like to me.” Liam punches his arm, hard. Zayn would punch him, too, if he could see straight.

“Hey,” Zayn says weakly, nodding at Liam. “You came.”

“Yeah,” Liam says and smiles a bit. “I did.”

“Where’s.” Zayn stops. “Where. Is.” He stops and closes his eyes. Big mistake. Everything in the whole world is swirling. He groans. He opens his eyes. “Where’s. You know.” He snaps his fingers.

Liam frowns. Both Liams frown.

“ _You_ know,” Zayn says. “Your _date_. Your _girlfriend._ ”

Liam actually scowls at that. “She is _not_ my girlfriend. Did one of the guys say that?” He glares at Louis who raises conciliatory hands. “Cuz she’s not. She’s not. At all. It was just. A date.”

Zayn waves a dismissive hand. “Potato, potahto.”

“Did you want something Louis?” Catie asks pointedly. She grinds down on Zayn’s lap and he winces a bit. Liam frowns. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, actually—”

It comes on suddenly. “I feel sick,” Zayn whispers, thinking no one can hear him, but apparently Liam hears him perfectly because he’s watching him with that _look_ , the one he gets when he’s worried and concerned and it usually has to do with Zayn.

“C’mon,” Liam says immediately, reaching down to grab Zayn’s limp, hot hand. “Let’s get you home.”

“Before you embarrass yourself any further,” Louis adds.

“Hey,” says Catie as Zayn is pulled out rather unceremoniously from beneath her. Liam has his arm around Zayn’s waist and he’s walking him to the front door and Zayn wonders how his feet area actually moving one in front of the other because they feel like bricks. Bricks filled with sand. And cement. As does his head. Somehow they make it to the front yard before he’s actually sick, keeling over and emptying his stomach contents into the patchy grass and dirt. Zayn hates vomiting more than anything, more than parties even, eyes closed and watering and throat burning and stomach clenching as liquid splashes against the ground. Liam clutches his arm and rubs circles into his back and doesn’t even say “Gross” or anything. He just sighs and Zayn knows he’s making that face again. When Zayn has finished he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and straightens up best he can.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling suddenly ashamed.

“For what?”

Zayn doesn’t even know because he and Liam have both puked in front of each other a few times over the years, and it’s been no big deal so why does this feel different?

But Liam’s arm is around him again and then they’re in Liam’s car and Zayn doesn’t remember getting there but he slumps gratefully against the door, inhaling the scent of evergreen car deodorizer and everything that smells like Liam.

“Is this Louis’ doing?” Liam asks as he starts driving. He sounds mad. “Because you don’t normally do this and this is _exactly_ the kind of thing Louis—”

“Nah,” Zayn says. “It was me. Just. I dunno. Wanted to tonight.”

“Why?” Liam sounds genuinely curious but Zayn can’t answer that right now. He knows why. He knows that Liam having a date and Liam purposely going on a (third) date with a girl (Sophia) and purposely not telling Zayn about it beforehand and the fact that Zayn even cares about the date is all a part of why he tried to annihilate himself but in the end he just shrugs.

“Just wanted to,” he says again. He hears Liam sigh again and then it’s quiet and when Liam puts the car into park and Zayn opens his eyes he realizes, blurrily, where they are. “This is your house.”

“Yeah, well I really don’t think your parents would appreciate me dropping you off in this condition, yeah?”

Zayn bites the inside of his lip and blinks back sudden tears. “Thanks,” he says. Liam gets out and comes around and opens Zayn’s door and basically lifts him out. Zayn feels better after his purge but nowhere near steady enough to walk on his own. Liam seems to realize this and carefully maneuvers him into the house and down the stairs to Liam’s room, oh so familiar and oh so welcoming. He collapses onto Liam’s bed and buries his hot face into the pillows and sheets as Liam removes his vomit-splattered shoes and drops them on the floor.

“You want to get undressed?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says and manages to sit long enough to tug down his jeans and kick them onto the floor and pull his T-shirt over his head. Liam watches him in silence then sighs one last time before getting undressed and disappearing into the bathroom. Zayn’s head is spinning and he _really_ hopes he’s not going to be sick again when Liam reappears with a small bucket that he places on the floor by Zayn and a glass of water for his bedside table. Finally he fishes Zayn’s mobile from his jeans pocket and starts tapping away.

“What are you doing?” Zayn mumbles.

“Texting your parents.”

Hot tears burn Zayn’s eyes again and he presses his face into the pillow as hard as he can. It’s all too much. Everything is just _too much_ tonight.

“You’re ok, right?” Liam says as he touches Zayn’s head lightly. Zayn nods. “Ok.”

Liam slides into the bed beside him, twisting in the sheets until he’s comfortable, kicking Zayn twice in the shins. Zayn rolls over to face him.

“I’m really drunk,” Zayn says in the darkness.

“I know,” Liam says. Zayn can hear the smile in his voice.

“But not as drunk as I was before.”

“Yeah. Puking will do that.”

They’re quiet for a moment.

“I kissed Catie,” Zayn whispers.

“Yeah. I know,” Liam whispers back and he’s not smiling now. “I saw. _Everyone_ saw, actually.” He pauses. “How was that?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Not. Great.”

“Oh. Why not?”

Zayn shrugs and ponders which of the many reasons to share.

“She was just there and she seemed into me and I was drunk and you were on a date and—”

“Zayn,” Liam says with something hard caught in his throat. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to explain anything to me, you know?”

But Zayn does. He does have to explain and he’s desperate to get the words out but nothing is making sense.

“How was it?” he says instead.

“How was what?” Liam says. They’re both speaking very quietly in the dark, lying side by side and almost touching. The room isn’t spinning so much anymore but Zayn feels tired, beyond tired. He lets his hand find Liam’s beneath the sheet. Their fingers tangle, entwine, grasp lightly.

“Your. The. Date.”

He feels Liam shrug, shoulder brushing lightly against his. “It was fine. Nothing special really. She wanted to see a movie but then we couldn’t agree on anything so we got some food and then I wanted to go to the party to see—” He stops. “To see everyone and she didn’t want to go so I drove her home and I came. To the party. And.” He shrugs again and his voice fades away. Zayn smiles despite himself and he rolls on his side to face Liam. He knows he’s sweaty and gross and his breath stinks but he doesn’t even care right now.

“And then you found me,” Zayn prompts.

“Well, I found Louis looking for you.”

“He was looking for me?”

“Yeah. He got kinda distracted.”

“By Harry.”

Liam laughs. “Yeah. Kinda.”

“Niall was looking after me.” Zayn sighs.

“Yeah. I guess.” He hears the hardness in Liam’s voice but doesn’t question it.

“He was.” Zayn pauses. “Well. He was trying, I think.”

“You don’t even like those things, Zayn,” Liam reminds him. He feels Liam move a tiny bit closer, feels their finger tighten a tiny bit more.

“Well, not as much when you’re not there, anyway,” Zayn says. His voice is getting even quieter. He’s not sure what he’s even saying anymore.

“Well. I found you, at least.”

There’s a long pause. Zayn wonders if Liam has fallen asleep. He takes a chance.

“You have such a good heart, Liam,” Zayn whispers in the darkness. “The best. The best heart.”

He feels Liam duck his head. “I think you’re still drunk,” he says, but he’s smiling. Zayn can hear it in his voice. Zayn shakes his head emphatically.

“Nah. Not drunk.” He pauses. “Well, maybe a bit. But just a tiny bit. Not enough that I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Okay, Zaynie.”

“You’re an artichoke, Liam. A fucking artichoke with this tender heart that you pretend you don’t have so you can protect yourself but I know.” Zayn pokes one finger into Liam’s chest for emphasis. “ _I_ know.”

Liam is grinning properly now and probably blushing and shaking his head at it all.

“Okay, Zaynie,” he says again, quietly. “Maybe it’s time to sleep.”

“Artichoke,” Zayn says again. “Trust me.”

“Artichoke,” repeats Liam.

“Artichoke.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Zayn yawns. He keeps holding Liam’s hand.

They sleep.

 

//

 

_burnished_  
_as a grenade,_  
_haughty,_  
_and then one day_  
_it was into the grand_  
_willow basket_  
_with the others and off_  
_to the market_  
_it marched_  
_to fulfill its dream:_  
_the militia!_

 

5) movie theatre/a divorce/late-night conversation

 

Because Liam is Liam, he’s the only one of the group who has a part-time job, but at least he has a cool job at the local movie theatre. It’s a small, simple discount theatre that shows second-run movies at a cheaper price and is therefore very popular with teenagers who are broke and/or high. The boys make regular pilgrimages to late-night screenings, giggly and goofy with flasks of vodka or blunts they light up at the back of the but tonight Zayn comes alone, homework complete, bored and fidgety, longing for company in the form of one person only. Liam grins at him immediately when he spots Zayn. He’s taking tickets from an older, sketchy looking man who scuttles away without looking around as Liam makes his way towards the entrance.

“Hey,” Liam says, grinning widely. “You here for Deadpool again?”

Zayn shrugs, looking down at the ground and then up at Liam. “Yeah. Just needed some time out.”

“You ok?” Liam asks immediately and he looks _worried_ and Zayn looks away again because fuck.

“Oh yeah. Just. You know. Stressed about exams and shit. It’s fine.”

“Ok,” Liam says, relief visible in his face and posture. He presses a hand to the small of Zayn’s back. “Sit in your usual. I’ll try to sneak in.”

Zayn nods and tries not to push back against Liam’s hand. He walks away instead, head down, lip in his teeth. It’s the routine, really, for all of them. Sitting in the back row, feet up on the worn seats in front of them, sharing popcorn and drinks and candy, passing the flask back and forth and laughing loudly at everything, whether it’s funny or not. Especially when it’s not.

Zayn settles in, middle of the back row, his usual spot, in a mostly empty theatre, relishing the cool and dark and quiet, for now, not thinking about anything except the movie and his favourite bits and how nice it is to just sit and relax and breathe in one of his favourite places. He leans back as far as he can and stretches out, slouching down in the seat as the movie starts, previews first and then the movie proper and he grins, because it’s that good and he’s happy and he loses himself for a bit until he feels a familiar pressure against his shoulder and a familiar scent filling the space between them.

“Hey,” Liam whispers, shoving against him. Zayn can’t help but grin and he bites at his lip, fights it, fights all of it.

“Hey,” he whispers back, which is silly considering there are only about four people in the theatre and the other two in the sitting in the front row. It just feels… _intimate_ , the two of them sitting side by side in the flickering shadows, knees bumping, shoulders brushing.

“Taking a break,” Liam says quietly, his mouth close to Zayn’s ear, because he feels it, too, the need to be covert, quiet, unnoticed. “Janice is taking a smoke break and Belinda said she’d cover snacks for me. She owes me. I gave her boyfriend free popcorn twice last week.”

Zayn smiles and nods and slides further down in the seat. He can’t stop smiling. They watch the movie together, laughing at the same time and bumping up against each other and Liam checking his watch occasionally. 

“Gotta go,” Liam says at last and he sounds almost reluctant and Zayn nods and looks his way and then Liam is grabbing his hand, squeezing his fingers tight tight between his like a kind of promise or goodbye sorry or something Zayn can’t quite decipher, and he leans over and kisses Zayn’s cheek, softly, just a press of lips high on his cheekbone. Then he’s gone, down the aisle and out the door, light sneaking in briefly and then extinguished, almost like he was never there and Zayn tries to refocus on the movie, the action the dialogue the characters but it takes awhile, it takes effort, it takes _not thinking about Liam_.

It’s like a game they both play, Zayn supposes, this back and forth push and pull thing that they both willingly participate in, flirting and laughing and dancing around each other all the goddamn time. Will they won’t they, is what everyone thinks, what _Zayn_ thinks, when he’s being completely honest with himself. Who will make the first move? Who? But he won’t, it won’t be him, he knows he won’t, not unless Liam moves first and Liam is a tease, Liam flirts, Liam is loving and friendly and flirty with everyone (but not like with _me_ , Zayn realizes), but there’s still Sophia. There are still boundaries they don’t cross. There are rules they both silently acknowledge and respect, despite everything. They follow the rules and spin the dial and move their pieces around the board and laugh together and wait and wait and wait for the end and yeah it’s just like a game.

Only no one ever wins and it’s really not that much fun to play anymore.

 

//

 

Niall’s parents are getting divorced. Niall is getting shitfaced. It’s a pretty fair trade, all told.

The five of them are gathered around Uncle James’ fire pit next to the pool on a night too warm and peaceful for the unfolding events. It should be raining, Zayn thinks. There should be thunder and raging winds but instead it’s calm and beautiful and peaceful and they should all be laughing and being silly but instead there’s Niall with his heart breaking wide open.

There are more than enough chairs for everyone but they’re all piled on the couch instead, arms around each other and arms around Niall as he cries and scrubs at his face. Beer bottles litter the patio beneath their bare feet and a joint, half-smoked, sits on the edge of the ashtray. The fire is too hot but it’s tradition and it’s comforting and they need it tonight. They’re in swim trunks, hair wet and dripping on bare shoulders and Zayn thinks stupidly for a moment that he can’t tell which is water and which is Niall’s tears that drip onto the warm skin of his arms. The four of them sandwich Niall, envelop him, Louis and Zayn on one side, Harry and Liam on the other. And they just listen.

“They were best friends,” Niall says and hiccups wetly. He throws one arm over his face. “Mum told me this fucking story all the time. They were friends long before they. They. You know.” He hiccups again. “They were best fucking friends. Now they don’t even love each other. I don’t think they even _like_ each other any more. How fucking depressing is _that_.” He attempts a laugh but it sounds like a sob. Louis pushes his face into Niall’s neck.

“What’s going to happen?” Harry whispers. Zayn wonders if he means to say it out loud but Zayn agrees, even if it’s selfish. What’s going to happen now? To Niall? To all of them?

“Dad’s moving out, soon as possible,” Niall says, his voice filled with glass. “Not sure if we’re selling the house. Don’t know if I can afford to go to uni anymore. Uncle James wants to pay, of course, and has offered to let me live here but mum doesn’t like that. Pride. Fucking pride. Dad’s broken her heart.” His breath shudders. “Don’t know. Don’t know much to be honest.”

“You know you have us,” Liam says firmly. He says it first even though Zayn was thinking it, they were _all_ thinking it, of course, but Liam says it and Zayn just keeps falling in love with this boy.

“Yeah. I know. I know that. It’s the only thing I know,” Niall says and stops crying at last.

They’re silent for awhile, just hanging on.

“The moral of the story lads?” Niall takes a deep deep breath. “Don’t fall in love with your best friend. Don’t fall in love at all. It all turns to shite.”

And Zayn looks right at Liam. Why? Why? Why does he look at Liam when Niall says that? And Liam is looking right back at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open and face flushed and why? It’s a brief bright moment but it seems to last forever before Zayn tears his gaze away, heart pounding against his ribs and blood pounding in his ears like a gathering storm.

 

//

 

Zayn can’t sleep. It’s not unusual, but it’s annoying because he’s tired and there’s school in the morning and he’s _tired_. He briefly considers texting Liam but talks himself out of it and instead slips from his bed, down the stairs to the kitchen. Maybe there’s food. Maybe leftover samosas. Instead he finds his sister sitting at the table, head in hands, finishing up a cry.

“Doniya,” he says, slightly alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffles and wipes at her face. “Vivek and I broke up.”

Ah, he thinks, and then _good_. He’d never liked the guy. Never liked the way he looked at other girls, like, all the time.

“I’m sorry,” he says, slipping into the chair next to hers. “What happened?”

“Oh, it’s been coming for awhile. I knew it. He knew it. It just. It sucks, you know?” She dabs at her eyes. “You put all that time and effort in and then. Whatever. Boys suck. Sorry, but they do.”

Zayn shrugs. Sure.

“But speaking of, how’s your boy?” She looks right at him, intent, curious.

“My what?” Zayn laughs and ducks his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Liam, you git. Liam? Your _boyfriend_? You two make it official yet? Where have you been hiding him, anyway? We miss him.”

“Don,” he hisses and looks around, as if their parents could be hovering nearby at 2 in the morning. “He’s not my—”

“Oh please, Zayn. It’s not as if they don’t know.” She sighs and pats her eyes again. “We all kinda figured it out ages ago, trust me.”

“Figured what out?” he asks. He knows what.

She just looks at him, the way she always has when she thinks she knows better. “Look. Relationships are shit most of the time, except when they’re not, and I’ve seen how the two of you look at each other for a long time now. I’ve seen how you _are_ with each other. God I’d love to have someone look at me the way he looks at you. Don’t mess it up, is all I’m saying. Vivek and I were a bad match. I know that. I’m ok with it. But you and Liam?” She shrugs in the harsh kitchen light in the middle of the night and Zayn suddenly feels like he could sleep for a week. “Don’t mess it up. Promise me. You’ll regret it.”

Zayn tries again. “We’re not—”

She wags a warning finger in front of his face and she looks completely, deadly serious. “You’ll regret it.”

He already does.

 

//

 

_In columns_  
_Never more martial_  
_Than at the fair,_  
_Men_  
_In their white shirts_  
_among the vegetables_  
_became_  
_field marshals_  
_of the artichokes,_  
_the closed ranks,_  
_the voices of command,_  
_and the sudden detonation_  
_of…a fumbled cashbox,_  
_but_

 

6) school/niall/movie theatre

 

And then there’s only two weeks left of school and it’s a frantic race to the finish line. Suddenly there’s not enough time for casual hangouts and swimming and drinking with projects to finish and deadlines to meet and the final big game of the year looming. Liam and the others spend more time on the field and Zayn spends more time reading and writing and in the art room where his final project nears completion.

Zayn still makes time for his boys though because he can’t not be near them as much as possible. He finishes assignments on the sidelines and waits for them to finish, cheering them on silently just like he’s always done. The ritual of driving everyone home, shared between Liam and Louis, is both familiar and bittersweet, as everything seems to be drawing to a close, faster than Zayn can comprehend. Today it’s Liam, dropping the other three off first because he and Zayn have a standing homework date going on three years now. Fridays after practice or school or whatever else they have going on in their lives, it doesn’t matter. Homework gets hauled out and it gets tackled and it gets finished, at one of their homes or the other. Zayn sits in the front seat, hands resting idly on his thighs, head nodding along to the music. Liam drives the same way he does everything else in his life, with great patience, care and attention. Zayn loves driving with him because he feels safe, safely confined inside a moving vehicle even if everything else around him might be going to shit.

They’re alone in the car and near Liam’s house when Liam looks at him suddenly, gaze intense. “Hey. Are we ok?”

Zayn startles, tears his gaze from the window.

“Sure we are,” Zayn says, nodding a bit frantically. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Liam shrugs, one-shoulder. He doesn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. I just. Just wanted to check is all. You’ve been quiet. Quieter,” he amends with a small grin.

Zayn nods. “Busy time of year, yeah? For you too, I mean.”

Liam nods, but it’s not convincing. “I just. I mean. I like to make sure, you know? Because we haven’t spent as much time together lately, and I know things have been a bit…weird.” He takes a deep breath. “And you’re like, my best—”

Zayn doesn’t let him finish. “It’s ok, Liam. Everything is ok. Really. Don’t worry.” He even offers up his best and most sincere smile. He hopes it reaches his eyes.

Liam nods again and grips the steering wheel tighter and doesn’t reply because they’re almost home.

 

//

 

Because Zayn doesn’t want to talk to anyone about anything to do with Liam he talks to Niall instead because Niall has his own set of serious issues that need dealing with. But, sometimes these things don’t go as planned.

“How’s…how’s everything?” Zayn begins. They’re sitting together behind the school at lunch, away from everyone, passing a ham sandwich and a cold sweaty can of Coke back and forth. The sun beats down on them, hot and heavy. The Coke tastes good.

Niall shrugs and purses his lips. “You mean the divorce.”

Zayn shrugs too. “Just. Yeah. Wanted to let you know I’m, you know. Thinking about you and all.”

Niall smiles at him but it’s a sad smile.

“Yeah,” Zayn says to the ground.

“It’s.” Niall pauses. He tilts his face to the sun. “It is what it is!” he says at last. He makes it dramatic, tries to make it funny but Zayn doesn’t feel like laughing, not even to please Niall.

“How’s everything with you?” Niall says back at him. He’s good at avoiding topics, just like Zayn. “I saw O’Malley talking to you again the other day.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Outside the caf.” Niall says it very casually, like it’s nothing. It was, in fact, another elbow in the side and another hissed _faggot_ that Zayn didn’t tell anyone about. Again. An ongoing thing that Zayn has sort of just absorbed into his daily routine. He doesn’t even think about it much anymore because school is almost over and he hopes never to see most of these people ever again. “Is he bothering you or something?”

“Nah. Not. Not really.”

“But you’d tell us if he was yeah?”

“Sure.”

“Sure,” Niall laughs. “I know you Zayn. Never wanna bother anyone. Especially Liam.”

“He’s got enough going on in his life.” Zayn sips at the drink. “You never did tell me what happened with O’Malley and the team. Why he got kicked off.”

“Didn’t I?”

Zayn shakes his head. Niall rests his head against the brick wall and squints against the sun.

“What did he do?”

“Oh. Nothing really.” Niall sighs. “Showed up high.”

“What? To practice?”

“Yeah. Couple times. Liam knew and threatened to tell Coach if he did it again.”

“And he did it again.”

“Yeah. Came to a game. A big one. Liam told Coach. O’Malley got suspended for two games.”

“And that’s all?”

“Nah.” Niall sighs. “When he came back he made trouble again. Pushed Li around a bit, called him names.”

“I don’t remember seeing that.” Zayn frowns. He would remember something like that.

“It happened in the locker room.” Niall finishes off the Coke, licks his lips. He doesn’t make eye contact. “He never told you?”

“No?” Zayn shifts nervously. Liam tells him everything. He thought. “What…what did he call him?”

Niall sighs again and rolls his eyes. “He called him a faggot. Among other things.”

Zayn tries very very hard to not react in any way. O’Malley has a really diverse vocabulary. He keeps his head and eyes lowered. “What?”

“Yeah.” Niall swallows audibly. “That was kinda the last. Uh. The last straw for Coach. I mean. Liam just…he just laughed it off? But others heard it and yeah.” Niall glances at him quickly. “He never told you.”

“No.” Zayn feels suddenly lightheaded in the sun. The Coke sits heavy in his stomach and his head swims. “He never told me.”

“Well. The school has a zero policy on that kind of stuff. Which is good. Really.”

“Yeah.” Zayn is still troubled. “But. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

Niall doesn’t look at him. “I dunno. It’s just. I dunno. It’s just ugly.”

“Well yeah.”

“And Liam he. He likes to protect people. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Especially people he cares about.” Zayn doesn’t look at Niall but he feels the weight of his eyes. “Don’t let it bother you, yeah?”

Zayn nods. “Yeah.”

_Yeah_.

 

//

 

It’s not bothering him, Zayn tells himself as he watches Liam laugh at the lunch table, head thrown back, eyes crinkled, lips pink. It’s not bothering him as he watches Liam’s lithe and powerful body run up and down the field, brow furrowed in concentration, feet magically quick. It’s not bothering him late at night with his hand under the covers, under his shorts, hand on his hard cock. It’s not bothering him that Liam hasn’t been telling him things, big things, important things about girlfriends and homophobic asshole teammates and whatever else he may be hiding and it’s definitely not bothering him that Liam insists on referring to their relationship as a friendship, a best mates thing, a purely platonic never to be anything else relationship that makes Zayn’s insides curdle even as he comes with a muffled cry, teeth biting into his pillow late at night, early in the morning, spilling over his fist in the shower.

It’s not bothering him.

It’s still not bothering him when they’re crammed into Louis’ impossibly small Fiesta hurtling through busy streets after the final practice before the Big Game and everyone is high on adrenalin and testosterone and all Zayn can smell is sweat and excitement and apparently the combination of these things is making people speak without thinking.

“Almost done, boys!” Louis yells as he narrowly misses a parked car. Zayn grips the door handle instead of Liam’s arm like he usually would because for once Niall is seated between them in the backseat, a fact that has not escaped anyone’s notice, least of all Liam, who gave Zayn a puzzled glance when Zayn went to the other side of the car to sit instead of sliding in behind Liam. “I can practically taste it.”

“Taste what, again?” Harry says and that sets them all to laughing.

“We need to plan a celebration, a right banger,” Louis continues, slamming on the brakes to allow and woman pushing a pram cross the street. She shoots them a dirty look and Louis waves in return. “We can all get laid!”

“Again?” Harry says, pinching Louis’ cheek. Harry turns round in his seat to look at the others. “And speaking of, where’d you get to the other night?” He says this directly to Liam, whose mouth parts slightly.

“When?”

“At Gordo’s. _You_ know. You and Sophia.” Harry smiles, bright and happy, unaware of the shark-infested waters he’s kicking about in. Louis elbows him in the side without taking his hands off the wheel but Harry doesn’t notice, because of testosterone and general lack of awareness. “She looked intent,” he continues, grinning, grinning. “A woman on a goddamn mission.”

“Jesus, Harry,” Louis mutters. He seems to be driving even faster, head turning slightly to take in Zayn’s expression, which is one of, as usual lately, confusion.

“What?” Harry frowns, first at Louis, then at Liam, whose face is suddenly drawn and pale, except for his cheeks, blazing hot. “You told me that he told you that she—”

Now it’s Niall’s turn. He slaps Harry swiftly and sharply in the head and Harry winces. “What the hell—”

“Harry,” Niall hisses and Harry’s making those _what did I say?_ gestures with his hands and stage whispering, “But I thought they got it all sorted!” and Louis is mouthing something like _shut the fuck up willya_ and Liam. Well, Liam staring straight ahead with an odd expression on his face, something like shame and sorrow and sadness and a few other emotions Zayn chooses not to investigate because what the hell indeed. Zayn leans forward slightly and tries valiantly to catch Liam’s eyes because he’s done playing these games. “Go on, Liam,” he says, licking his lips, easy as anything, “did you fuck her then?”

Liam’s eyes widen comically, mouth falling slightly open. Louis’ head snaps over and Niall actually covers his mouth with his hand. Harry, who has finally clued in, just stares straight ahead and pretends he hasn’t heard a word.

“Oh no.” Louis says.

“What?” Zayn looks around. He shrugs. “It’s just us lads, right? Lad talk? Lads being _lads_ , right?” He says this last thing directly to Liam, who is still staring, still as can be. “I mean,” he says, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, “you talk to everyone else about it, obviously. Why not me?” He shrugs again, like he doesn’t care, like none of it matters. He even manages to _smile_ though there are way too many teeth showing. He waves a trembling hand in Liam’s direction. “ _Go on_. You. Sophia. Did you _fuck_?”

The final word hangs in the air, fills up all the space and sucks out all the air. Louis sighs, defeated, shoulders slumping and Harry kind of sinks down lower in the seat while Niall eyes the nearest exit with increasing alarm, like he could happily fling himself out into the street. Liam’s eyes are very dark and his mouth draws very thin like it does when he’s very angry and biting back words that will probably hurt. They all brace themselves.

“Zayn.” Is what he says at last, just his name like it’s an entire sentence, beginning and end and everything in between. Then he closes his eyes and bites his lip, like even that one familiar word was just too much effort, and the spell is broken. He shakes his head like the entire discussion _disgusts_ him, which is pretty fucking funny, Zayn thinks, considering.

The car, mercifully, comes to a sudden, shuddering stop.

“We’re here!” Louis announces. His voice is very loud and fills all the space in the car. Zayn looks out the window. Liam’s house. His vision swims.

“Thanks, Lou,” he hears Liam say quietly, his voice coming from a long ways away, and it sounds like it’s underwater. He hears the door open and then shut and Louis speeds away before they can watch Liam walk into this house.

Zayn fights down the nausea and the tremors in his chest, sucks some air into his lungs, and then looks around at everyone looking back at him. “What? What did I say?”

Niall just sighs and pats his leg and no one says anything at all.

It is what it is.

 

//

 

For the first time in as long as Zayn can remember, he and Liam don’t talk for more than a day. Even when one of them was away on vacation, or summer camp, or sick or angry, they have always always managed to communicate in some way during a 24-hour period.

Not this time. The school day is interminable, painful, horrible. They sit across from each other at lunch avoiding eye contact and talking only to whoever sits next to them until Liam abruptly rises and walks out, food uneaten. They pass each other once in the hallway and Zayn pauses briefly and he swears Liam does, too, almost on instinct, before they both look away and keep walking. Five times he picks up his phone and taps out a text but then erases them:

_I’m sorry_

_I didn’t mean it_

_well I kinda meant some of it but it came out all wrong so_

_actually you owe me an apology because youre hiding shit from me and you never used to and you kissed me YOU kissed ME remember and now we just pretend it never happened and I don’t understand any of this_

_I love you_

Finally he texts Louis.

_I fucked up_

_yeah_ Louis replies immediately. _but both of you are kinda fucking this all up tbh_

_what do you mean?_

_nothing. Just talk to him. He’s working tonite. Just go and talk to him for fucks sake and put us all out of our misery :D_

He waits until late, working up the nerve, wondering if he should even bother, if there’s any point, but in the end he knows it’s stupid, of course, to even question it, because it’s _Liam_. It’s Liam and the thought of not having him in his life, even as just a friend, is incomprehensible. And if Liam is happy with Sophia, or Danielle, or whatever girl he ends up with next, or years from now, then Zayn can be that friend, he can be the mate that Louis and Harry and Niall have been. He can fucking do it because he has to do it, because he needs Liam more than he will ever admit, even to himself.

The lobby is nearly empty, the movies already started, some almost finished. Random patrons come and go, passing through to the loo, some stopping to refill popcorn bags. Zayn stops near the entrance, suddenly unsure of what he’s doing here or what he needs to say. Liam spots him immediately, before he can completely get his bearings, of course.

Of course.

“Zayn,” he says as Zayn approaches. He looks genuinely surprised, one hand on the till, one on a bag of popcorn. “What. What are you doing here?”

Zayn shrugs. He clears his throat like an idiot and tries to think of everything he’s been rehearsing for the past two hours. Nothing comes.

“Is everything ok?” Liam asks quietly, peering at him.

“Yeah! Yeah. Well. I mean. I just. I wanted to say something. About the other day, right.” He takes a deep shuddering breath.

“Zayn—” It’s like Liam knows what’s coming and he’s trying to cut him off. His eyes, as usual, are kind and understanding but Zayn can’t handle that right now. Doesn’t deserve it, he thinks.

“No really.” He rushes on. “It was. I was out of line. It’s none of my business, right?” He looks Liam right in the eyes and Liam looks. Well, he looks oddly devastated. Like he might start crying or something. “Like. You and Sophia. None of my business. Unless you want to talk to me about it. I can be that friend, too. Like the other guys. Really, I can, Liam. I won’t be an asshole about it, I promise. If she makes you happy then—”

“Can you stop for a minute?” Liam says and it comes out like a plea. “Can we just talk, like, normal for a minute?”

They stand facing each other, one on each side of the concession stand, Liam’s hands curled into fists on the counter and Zayn’s shoved deep in his jean pockets. He can’t let Liam speak, not yet, not yet. If he loses his nerve now he’s done for.

“Does she make you happy? Can you at least tell me that? Cuz that would help, at least because I just want you to be happy. That’s what I want.” Zayn’s voice is low and rough, even he can hear it, so he stops and waits, eyes on Liam’s face. He’s trying to be brave, for the sake of them, their friendship, whatever this is going to end up being. “You never talk. About her, or any of them, to me. I mean, I never ask, I know, but you can. If you want to.”

Liam swallows. “She. She’s nice. She’s fun.” His throat works. “I mean it’s what I’m supposed to be doing, yeah?” This he says so quietly Zayn has to lean forward a bit to hear.

“I don’t know what that means,” Zayn says and he feels miserable because he _doesn’t_ know what it means, what any of it means. It’s surreal, having this conversation in the middle of a worn-down theatre lobby that reeks of oil and stale popcorn, the rumble of movie soundtracks in the distance like thunder. It’s not supposed to be happening this way, but here they are.

Liam shakes his head. “It’s just—”

“Hey Zayn,” comes a voice from behind him and it’s Sophia, surrounded by a group of her friends. Their movie has ended, doors flung open, and they’ve converged upon her boyfriend, giggling and laughing about the funniest bits. Oh. Zayn’s face feels numb. He nods at her and manages a garbled greeting.

“Hey. Sophia. Hey. How are you?” or something along those lines.

“I’m good. You here to see a movie?” She casually slips her arm through Liam’s and squeezes, leans her head on his shoulder. Zayn blink rapidly, like he’s witnessing a hallucination. He can’t quite meet Liam’s eyes as he speaks.

“Uh. I was going to. But I’ve seen everything, I just realized. So. I’m gonna go.” He pauses and then, why the fuck not. “I was just saying to Liam we should all hang out some time, like all of us. The lads would like that. Like just casual, you know, maybe at Niall’s uncle’s house, or a party or even a movie or something.” He can’t seem to stop talking now that he’s started and Sophia looks pleased so he must be saying something right. He even attempts a smile and everything.

“Oh! That would be awesome! I’m always asking and Liam always comes up with some excuse.” She smiles up at him and Zayn can see how attractive she is and how much she likes him and how fucking good they look together so he keeps fucking babbling.

“Yeah, I think we embarrass him is all, but we’d behave ourselves for you. I mean it’s possible if we put our minds to it and we’re all wanting to get to know you now that you’re, you know, serious and all.”

“Zayn—” Liam says again but Zayn can’t stand it. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

“Anyway, see you around,” he says to Sophia, and, “We’re good right?” brightly in Liam’s direction. “Right?”

And Liam nods dumbly as Sophia presses harder into his side, presses her lips against his flushed check.

“Good, I’m gonna go, then. I’ll talk to you later, ok?” Zayn says and he offers a strained smile and a small wave and then he turns and walks and walks and walks.

 

//

 

_then_  
_comes_  
_Maria_  
_with her basket,_  
_who fearlessly_  
_picks out_  
_an artichoke,_  
_looking at it, examining it_  
_against the light as if it were an egg,_  
_she buys it,_  
_drops it_  
_into her basket_  
_with a pair of shoes,_  
_a white cabbage and a_  
_bottle of vinegar as well_

__

 

7) art room/bullies return/confessions/party #3

 

And it’s amazing how people can just pretend everything is all right, especially when there’s history. They go on, the two of them, like nothing happened, even though something has happened, but Zayn can hardly define it and his brain won’t let him, and for awhile it’s like old times, and he can pretend that school isn’t almost over and Liam isn’t dating someone who isn’t him and Zayn isn’t completely in love with him. And for a brief, glorious time, Zayn pretends he’s even happy.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Liam is leaning against the locker beside Zayn’s, fairly thrumming with nervous energy because it’s the final game, at last, and it means more than Liam is willing to express, but Zayn can see it in the fingers tapping against his textbooks, can read it in Liam’s chewed bottom lip and bobbing throat.

It’s a question but it’s not. Liam is asking with his bright and hopeful face, but he already knows the answer. Or, he hopes he does. He wants Zayn there, always, of course, but each time he’s worried Zayn might not show up. But has Zayn ever not shown up? Ever? No. Even with that 102 degree fever and that weird rash that turned out to be strep, Zayn was there. He’s _always_ there.

“Of course,” Zayn says, slamming his locker door shut. The metallic clang reverberates in the empty hallway. “Always.”

“Okay,” Liam says, exhaling and smiling at the same time. Relief. He’s relieved, Zayn realizes, though it’s the same every single time. Zayn is there, he’s always there, seated behind the team, cheering them on. “Good.”

Zayn shifts his books to his left arm, hefts his backpack higher. 

“You okay? You want me to wait?” Liam is nervous and fidgety, Zayn realizes, but not only for the game. It’s something else he can’t quite put his finger on.

“No, no man. I’m good. Just gonna put some finishing touches on my art project and then head out. I’m good.”

“You sure?” Liam’s eyes dart around but Zayn’s not sure what he’s looking for or why.

“Yeah. Course.” Zayn grins, punches Liam’s shoulder lightly. “Thanks though, dad.”

Liam flushes red at that, looks down and away, shifting his bag 

“It just. It looks like there’s nobody here.”

“Mr. Stadnikyj is here. He keeps the art room open for an extra hour every Tuesday. It’s cool.”

“It’s just I’d wait with you but I have to go. I have to eat and stretch and it’s a half-hour drive to their school and the game starts at 6 and—”

Zayn bites back a laugh. “Liam. Go. It’s fine. Everything is fine and I’ll be there and you just _go_. I’ll be there. Promise. Okay?”

“Okay.” Still Liam pauses, knowing he has to go get ready but not wanting to at the same time.

“ _Okay_?”

“Yeah.” Liam smiles at last, a small shy smile that makes Zayn’s heart hurt. Like, actually hurt. He backs away slowly. “See you soon.”

“See you soon.” And it even sounds like a promise.

 

//

 

He finishes faster than he anticipated and feels a wave of both euphoria and sadness when he realizes it’s his last project of the year. It’s a painting, mixed media with spray paint and acrylic entitled _The Artichoke_ that makes his heart swell with pride, all greens and browns, peace and energy. He places it on the work bench to dry, says goodbye to his teacher and heads out, feeling better and lighter than he has in weeks. School is almost done and there’s the game to watch and the team to cheer on and he and Liam are almost back to normal. His boots clomp on the scuffed vinyl floor, sending echoes down the empty hallways. There’s early summer sun slanting in through the far doors and he wonders what his mum has made for dinner and for a moment he almost feels _happy_.

It doesn’t last, of course.

They find him just outside the school doors, just after they clang shut with a finality that makes Zayn’s heart hurt a bit. O’Malley and a crony Zayn can’t place. Is he even a student here? He looks older, meaner, if that’s possible. They shove him up against the rough bricks, crowd close enough that he can smell cigarette smoke and alcohol on their breath. O’Malley rips Zayn’s book out of his hand, rips the cover off, rips it in half. Imagine being that stupid and that angry, Zayn thinks. He can’t. He arranges his expression in what he hopes is both smug and threatening, but he’s pretty sure is neither. His hands curl in fists at his sides even though he’s never punched anyone in his life.

Frankly, he’s terrified.

“Your boyfriend got me kicked off the team,” O’Malley says before his hands find Zayn’s shoulders, shoving him back hard. Zayn’s head thumps against the wall and fuck that hurts. “Made me look like an idiot.” A punch to the ribs.

“Can’t imagine that was too fucking difficult,” Zayn says because apparently now he now has a head injury that causes him to say stupid things in dangerous situations.

“What the fuck did you say?” Crony slaps the side of Zayn’s head, his ear, and there’s a ringing there.

“I said your mate here’s a homophobic twat who got kicked off a high school footie team for getting caught high. Twice. That sound smart to you? Oh wait. I’m asking the wrong person, apparently.”

And then they’re on him, fists and boots and grunts of rage. Zayn attempts a few punches of his own, connects with a chin and a cheek, feels the brunt in his knuckles, and he might even break someone’s nose, he’s not positive, but in the end their fury is overwhelming and they’re both so _big_. There’s a fist to the side of his head and then he’s on the ground. There’s a foot in his lower back and one in his side, his legs, his ribs. He gets in a few solid kicks before he curls and covers his head and prays that someone, anyone, finds him before they fucking kill him.

And through it all, he keeps remembering his promise to Liam, and Liam’s eager, excited, expectant face, and jesus, the whole fucking time he keeps thinking, let’s just get this over with already. I’m gonna miss the game.

I’m gonna miss the fucking _game_.

 

//

 

Mr. Stadnikyj finds him huddled against the lockers, arms wrapped around himself, trying not to cry after he’d managed to haul himself back inside when the beating was mercifully over. And then there are phone calls to his parents and the police and serious discussions and a fucking _ambulance_ because everyone decides he needs to be checked out, X-rays and everything and Zayn can’t believe any of it is actually happening. There are quiet concerned voices and gentle touches that still hurt and his parents and his mum crying and his dad quietly threatening. There’s waiting and more questions and waiting and _finally_ he’s allowed to leave, nothing broken, just bruises and swelling and pain. Lots of pain.

By the time he’s able to check his phone the game is almost over. Halftime has come and gone and he has 27 text messages and half a dozen voicemails. He slumps against the door in the backseat of the car, drops his head and sighs, his whole body hurting, including his heart.

“You all right, sweetheart?” his mum asks, leaning back immediately. He nods, sighs again. “We’ll be home soon.”

He looks back at his phone. First, three texts from Liam.

_ur still coming right?_

_u here yet? Can’t see you!_

_u gonna be late??_

Then a phone call.

_Hey. It’s me._ He sounds out of breath. _Just uh checking in cuz you’re not here yet and we’re about to start. So. Yeah. Hope everything is ok and. Yeah. Just wanted to check cuz you’re always here by now. Ok._ Pause and Zayn can hear cheers and shouts behind him. _I have to go. Hope you get here soon._

Then half-time and a flurry of texts and messages. Liam again:

_r u sitting somewhere else cuz no one can see you_

_maybe you stayed late at school?_

_let me know ur ok??_

Then Louis:

_where r u u wanker everyones looking for you!_

And Harry:

_You ok? Everyone is kinda worried ur our lucky mascot :)_

And a few from Niall:

_heyyy hope your ok!!! Miss seeing your beautiful face_

_if you can let someone know your alright? Getting a bit worried_

And a message from Liam:

_Hey. Zaynie. It’s me. Uh. Halftime, yeah? Gotta make it quick but just checking in._ Zayn can picture him perfectly, hand gripping the back of his sweaty neck, eyes scanning the crowds for Zayn’s familiar form, sweat gathering in beads along his hairline and down his neck. _Just. Yeah. You’re not here._ Nervous laughter. _Obviously. Just you said you were coming so. Yeah. Hope you can still make it?_ More laughter that sounds forced and hoarse, then _I gotta—_ before he’s cut off.

And a message from _Niall_ :

_Zayn! What’s happening! Yeah so. Yeah. It’s halftime now. And. Yeah. Just calling to see where the fuck you are._ Laughter, nervous but tinged with something else. _Just wondering if you could possibly let Liam know. Or someone know that you’re ok. Cuz if you’re just fucking around and decided not to show up that would really suck. Oh god. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean. I really hope everything is all right. It’s just. Uh._ And here Niall lowers his voice like he doesn’t want to be overheard but the noise behind him, the whoops and hollers and cheers would pretty much make it impossible. _It’s just Liam is having a bit of a. Uh. He’s pretty upset, yeah? We can’t get hold of you and we’re hearing these fucked up rumours of something going down at the school and your name keeps coming up and O’Malley’s too so Liam is kinda freaking out. So yeah. Anyway—_ He pauses. _Yeah! I’m coming! I gotta go. Talk soon mate._

 

Finally, the last one from Liam, out of breath again and Zayn can’t tell if it’s because he just got off the field and is making a forbidden call away from the coach’s prying eyes or if it’s something else:

_Hey it’s me, surprise haha. Uh. The game’s almost over. Well. Soon I guess and I just. Wanted to check in again. No one can get hold of you or knows where you are so unless I hear something in the next uh hour I’ll be standing on your front doorstep so yeah just be uh prepared ok? You’re ok though, right Zaynie? See you soon_

And this one sounds like a question instead of a promise.

Zayn closes his eyes, exhausted beyond comprehension for so many reasons. He can feel himself drifting off but before he does he types.

_Sorry_ he types at last. _I’m really sorry. I’m fine everything is fine I’m okay something came up_

He thinks about adding a stupid emoji like a winky face or cool shades but doesn’t because what the fuck and hits send. Then he pauses and types one more line.

_Hope you won_

Then he throws his phone down and passes out on his bed.

 

//

 

When Zayn opens his eyes again it’s late. Hours have passed it seems and it’s darker out. Not completely, but the summer sun has almost set, pouring yellow-orange light in through his bedroom windows and assaulting his eyes. He’d forgotten to shut the blinds before he fell into bed.

Liam is here, in the house, downstairs. Zayn can’t see him but he knows he’s there. It’s probably why he’s suddenly awake, heart hammering against his ribs. He can hear the low rumble of Liam’s voice at the front door as he talks to Zayn’s parents. Good. They can explain everything that happened so Zayn doesn’t have to speak about it ever again. Not even to Liam. Especially not to Liam.

The voices pause at last and then Zayn hears footsteps on the stairs. Second, third, creaky fourth. He closes his eyes and breathes and waits. His bedroom door swings open slightly, light from the hallway sliding in.

“Zayn,” Liam whispers. His voice is low and hollow and hoarse, the weight of hours of worry bundled in one short syllable. “Zayn.”

Zayn opens his eyes and rolls towards the voice. “Hi. Yeah. I’m awake.” He blinks a few times. “Hey. You ok?”

Liam pauses and shakes his head, looks at the floor. “Am _I_ ok. Really?” He laughs, brittle, then sighs, shaky.

Liam steps inside and closes the door behind him. Now it’s just the two of them in the semi-dark staring at one another without really seeing anything at all. Neither one says a word. Zayn’s body is so tired, so bone-achingly exhausted but his mind is jaggedly awake, all the events and images and words of the day jumping and banging around in his head, jammed up behind his lips and he knows if he tries to say anything he’ll say it all and never stop. He can hear Liam’s heavy breaths, knows his chest is rising and falling and that he’s probably clenching his fists and chewing on his bottom lip the way he does when he doesn’t know what to do. Zayn shifts a bit, tries to sit up and lets out a small groan, barely a sound at all but it’s enough to galvanize Liam into action. He takes two quick steps across the small room and kneels beside the bed, his face so close Zayn can feel his breath hot on his cheek.

“Oh Zayn,” is all he says reaching out but unsure of where to touch. Zayn catches a hand in his and holds it tight and Liam hangs on like he’s drowning. He lays his forehead on the bed and Zayn realizes he’s crying. Liam is _crying_ , shoulders shaking under his T-shirt, face pressed hard into Zayn’s slightly musty smelling sheets and Zayn just lies there, frozen, speechless. 

Liam’s crying for _him_? Liam’s this upset over _him_?

“Liam,” he says at last, slightly alarmed. “Hey. Liam. I’m okay, really. Okay?” Zayn touches Liam’s head, hair still damp with sweat or post-game shower, he’s not sure which but he suspects sweat, and the touch turns into a caress over the top of his head and down the back to the base of his neck, over and over. “Just bruises and bullshit, right? Nothing’s even broken. I can show you X rays even. Well, I can get them for you, if you want.” He knows he’s babbling but he just wants Liam to stop fucking _crying_. “I’m tougher than I look, yeah?”

Liam manages a small, wet laugh at that, but his shoulders still shake slightly under Zayn’s touch and he sniffles against the sheets.

“I’m fine,” Zayn says again, convincing himself as much as Liam, he supposes. “I’m fine. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I know that _now_ ,” Liam whispers in that heavy hoarse voice again, lifting his head at last, face wet in the half-light. “But you don’t know. You don’t understand. You weren’t _there_ and you weren’t answering any of our texts or calls and you’re _always there_ right? You’re always right fucking _there_ and then we started hearing these stupid rumours about something happening after school and someone getting hurt and fucking O’Malley’s name kept coming up and the game was about to start and you still weren’t there. Do you see?” He takes a huge shuddering breath and holds Zayn’s hand even tighter. “And then the game started and we had to play. I had to play. I didn’t know what to do. I kept looking for you and god. I made such a mess of things. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t fucking focus. Coach almost benched me. He should have fucking benched me. And then at halftime we all tried getting in touch with you again and nothing. Nothing at all. I even called your _mom_ and she didn’t answer either. I was fucking losing it. And I started asking the guys who’d been talking about O’Malley and they said it was true, it had happened and the cops came and an _ambulance_ but they didn’t know who…who—

His breath is catching in his throat like he’s going to hyperventilate or throw up or _scream_ or something, eyes wide and panicked and face so close to Zayn’s that Zayn does the only thing he can think of to help, to make it better, to show Liam once and for all that everything is okay, at least for now, everything is fine and he leans forward and kisses him. Not on his mouth exactly, but the corner of it, softly and gently, his lips catching half of Liam’s, and his skin tastes like that complicated mix of salt, tears and sweat and Zayn keeps his lips soft against Liam’s skin until he feels Liam calm himself, his breath even out, his eyes flutter closed, his fingers loosen in Zayn’s. He turns his head slightly, just a fraction, so his mouth lines up with Zayn’s briefly, and their lips press together, dry and soft, ever so briefly and Zayn murmurs, again, “It’s okay.”

Liam shakes his head, their lips brushing together. “It’s not okay, Zayn. It’s not. None of this is okay. But at least _you’re_ …yeah.” He smiles at Zayn, just a little, a warm and real smile. “I just. I should go.” He shudders and sighs, his entire body seeming to deflate with the breath, his head dropping again, his eyes closing. Zayn cups one side of his face with his hand and Liam leans into it instinctively, half asleep already, adrenaline spent, body loose and lax.

“Just stay here,” Zayn says, not sure if Liam even hears. “Stay. Okay?”

He shuffles backwards in his small single bed, shuffles back until he’s pressed against the wall and Liam lifts himself up off the floor without a word, just climbs into the bed like he’s done many times before when he’s been too drunk or too tired or too reluctant to drive home but this time it’s different. Zayn doesn’t know why exactly, but it is. He’s too tired to figure it out though. Not right now. Liam settles next to him, head on the pillow, curled on his side, facing Zayn, four knees bumping awkwardly against each other. This won’t work, Zayn realizes, but Liam is already almost asleep, so Zayn turns over, faces the wall, curls back into Liam and Liam accepts it blindly, without a word, arm snaking over Zayn’s side, hand settling on Zayn’s stomach, palm open, pushing up under his shirt, resting against bruises not yet formed. Liam pushes his head against Zayn’s neck, breath soft and warm on the skin there.

“You’re okay,” Liam says, talking to Zayn’s neck. “You’re _okay._.” Like he’s reassuring himself one last time. Zayn nods. Yeah. Yeah I am, and places his hand over Liam’s. Liam moves closer, slides one leg in between Zayn’s, tucks his head in between the back of Zayn’s neck. He sighs. Zayn sighs.

“I was supposed to protect you.”

“What?”

“It’s my job.”

“No it’s not.”

“I promised.”

“Liam.”

“I _promised_.”

“Liam.”

But Liam is gone, breath long and slow

They sleep.

 

//

 

O’Malley gets expelled and charges are pending and Zayn gets way too much attention and there’s whispers in the hallways and counselors and appointments and too much talking for a few days. Zayn has never talked so much in his life as he clumsily attempts to explain what has been going on for weeks and why he didn’t tell anyone and why he put up with it and why and why and _why_. And he has no answer. He can’t clear his head and his thoughts are jumbled and his ribs hurt and he just wants it all to be over.

His boys don’t leave him alone for a second (“He’s been expelled, you know. He’s gone.” “Doesn’t matter,” they say. And, “We should have been there.” And, “We know you’re tough Zayn, but fuck. Everyone needs backup.”) And Zayn just shakes his head and bites his tongues and wishes it was _over_.

And then there’s Liam. Liam is his shadow, his constant, rarely leaving his side, waiting for him between the classes they don’t have together, sitting close beside him at lunch, driving him to and from school, texting him before bed, before school, and once, at 3:23 a.m.

_hey_ is what pings through.

Zayn rouses himself, though he wasn’t deeply asleep anyway. Too many shadows. Too many dreams.

_hey. Why are you awake_

_couldn’t sleep. Just wanted to say hey_

_hey_

_funny_

_I’m actually okay you know. Really_

There’s a long pause then and Zayn dozes, curled under a blanket, hands tucked to his chin. Finally he adds, _are you okay?_

And another long pause. Zayn thinks he must have fallen asleep, but then a reply comes at last, stark and lonely in the darkness of the room.

_night zaynie_

 

//

 

They sit side by side in companionable silence like they always have, pens and pencils scratching, pages turning, keyboards clicking. Liam’s math exam is in the morning, followed by Zayn’s English exam in the afternoon and he’s deep in the language, miles away and yet still aware of Liam, his presence, his breathing, his _being_. It’s just them, together, quiet and in their own heads, but somehow in each other’s as well. Zayn bites at a smile, wills himself to focus, _focus_.

“Hey,” Liam says suddenly. Zayn looks up, head filled with words and images. “What happened to your book?”

Zayn looks down, confused. Oh. Right. His beloved Neruda. Ripped in half and torn up and a few pages missing here and there. He’d taped it back together best he could but it was a right mess, really. He hadn’t thought much of it though, until just now. He blinks.

“Uh. It just got. Ripped. A bit.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal but is suddenly feels very big indeed because he can hear O’Malley’s voice and feel those kicks in his ribs, every single one. _What kind of fucking book is this you fucking faggot_. Inventive and clever with words, that one was.

Liam frowns. “A bit? It looks like someone tried to destroy—” His jaw clicks shut suddenly, his mouth pulled tight as realization dawns in his eyes. Zayn swallows and shrugs, wills him not to ask, not to speak of it. He doesn’t want to talk about it ever again.

“It’s no big deal, really. I have most of them memorized anyway.”

Liam watches him for a beat too long, brown eyes wide and serious but kind, always kind and for the first time in a long time Zayn truly can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Liam nods at last, tight and fast, and looks away. “Right.” And he goes back to studying.”

 

//

 

And then it’s over. Assignments handed in, exams completed, lockers emptied. Promises are made to stay in touch, to make plans, to travel, to attend the same universities, to _live life_. Harry is helping his dad at his company for the summer, Louis got hired at the movie theatre after Liam pulled a few strings ( _”Don’t_ fuck me over, Lou, I mean it,”), Niall is interning for his uncle and Zayn is babysitting three young cousins.

“You definitely drew the short straw, mate,” says Niall, but he sounds positively gleeful. He and Harry and Zayn are sprawled in lawn chairs in Harry’s backyard, passing a joint and celebrating everything. Zayn shrugs. He feels light as air.

“It’ll be okay. They’re good kids. They respect me, at least,” and he kicks Harry’s foot sharply.

“What?” Harry jerks up, confused. “What did I do _now_?”

“Nothing,” Zayn says, and laughs. It’s all so stupid, all of it, so he laughs.

“Where’s Lou and Li?” Niall asks, as if just realizing they’re not here.

“Lou texted. Said something came up but they’re coming. Should be here soon,” Harry says in his slow, syrupy drawl.

Zayn’s ears prick up at that. It’s a goddamn reflex he can’t control. “Is everything ok?” Is Liam ok?

Harry smiles dreamily. “Everything is fanfuckingtastic.”

“No I mean—”

“Relax Zaynie. Please? For me?” Harry passes him the joint and Zayn takes it because relaxing sounds pretty fanfuckingtastic right now.

Time slows and swirls for a bit and Zayn wishes they could stay like this, just like this, no worries, no pressing responsibilities. Niall and Harry are talking, softly and endlessly. Zayn doesn’t know what about and he doesn’t ask. He thinks about the future briefly but can feel the anxiety building so he stops, justlikethat, and lets himself float for a little while longer.

Louis and Liam arrive at last, late and breathless, laughing and loud, swooping into the backyard with more beer and samosas from Zayn’s favourite shop. Zayn watches as if from a great distance, smiling a bit, until he sees.

“What happened to your hand?” Zayn says immediately. Liam’s right hand has a white bandage wrapped around it and he’s cradling it awkwardly by his side. His eyes are red-rimmed. He might already be drunk, or getting there.

Liam bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head, once.

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Zayn says. He manages to stand, manages to move towards him, a bit unsteadily. “What did you do?”

But Liam won’t reply. He stands still as Zayn gently pulls his hand up towards him, cradling it, examining it. What he can see of the knuckles are red and swollen.

“You punched someone, yeah?” Zayn is angry and he can hear it in his voice. Liam won’t look at him. He’s staring at the grass, at Zayn’s feet, at anything but Zayn. He swallows visibly.

“No,” he says, voice low.

“No?” Zayn says. “Really.”

Louis slings an arm over Liam’s shoulders then, hugs him close.

“Not _someone_ ,” is what Louis says and plants a sound kiss to the side of Liam’s bowed head, “but you should see the _wall_.” Liam manages a little laugh at that as Louis continues. “You know what our Liam here is like, yeah? Pretty fucking intense at times. But he got it out of his system and we’re good to go.” Another kiss and Louis bounds off to find Harry, plopping down on his lap so hard the lawn chair squeaks and groans dangerously, which sends Niall into a strangled fit of laughter.

Zayn doesn’t move. He stares at Liam, thinking. And he really must be high because he lifts the bandaged hand higher, holds it against his lips briefly, smelling antiseptic and old blood and Liam. Liam’s eyes flicker and finally meet his, wide and open and wounded. Zayn sighs, breath ghosting over Liam’s bare skin before he places the hand carefully back at Liam’s side.

“Pretty fucking intense,” Zayn echoes, which gets a ghost of a smile from Liam.

“That’s me,” he says, shrugging.

“But I—”

“Let it go, Zaynie, please.” Liam says it very quietly. “Please.”

“Oi!” Louis bellows. “Get over here, you two. We’re celebrating!”

So Zayn lets it go and floats and laughs with his boys, even with Liam, who is keeping up with all of them for a change. They talk late into the night, talking over each other and laughing until several neighbours yell at them to shut up already, which makes them laugh harder.

“You’re awfully quiet over there, Payno,” Louis says lazily, much later. Liam has been quiet, all night actually, but not sad quiet, Zayn thinks. Just. Still.

“Thinking,” Liam replies at last, staring at his beer bottle. He smiles a little.

“’bout what?” Harry says. He’s slurring. They’re all slurring.

Liam shrugs a bit. “Life. The future. You know.”

Louis and Harry look at each other and grin. “So, the usual, then.”

Liam doesn’t respond. “I just think it’s time to make some. Some _decisions_ , y’know?” His voice is low and quiet.

“Oi. Mate. Don’t be so morose,” Niall says, tapping his foot lightly.

“That’s a big word there, Nialler,” Zayn says, speaking at last, though his eyes are still on Liam. “Sure you know what it means?”

“Yeah. Just. Need to make some changes I think.” Liam seems to be speaking to himself. Everyone looks at him.

“Yeah?” Niall says. He seems genuinely curious. Liam snaps out of his reverie and shakes his head and laughs.

“Sorry,” he says. He takes a drink. “Don’t mind me. I’m just all up in my head right now.”

“So, the usual, then,” Louis says again, and then they’re all laughing and for a moment Zayn can pretend that maybe everything is ok.

Even for just a little while.

 

//

 

_then_  
_entering the kitchen_  
_plunges it into the pot._

 

8) party #3/homework/another kiss/a bedroom

 

It’s Zayn’s idea to go to the third party. It hits him out of the blue on the Friday night. End of school, big blowout, everyone’s going, etc., etc. A house he’s never been to, with people he doesn’t really know. For once it sounds perfect, it sounds like exactly what he needs. Harry and Louis are on an actual date, a real date, dinner and a movie (“He’s so romantic,” says Harry in a teasing voice, but his eyes are bright and he can’t stop staring at Louis in his black jeans and tight T-shirt. Louis stares right back.) Liam, he knows, is out with Sophia because he overheard him telling Niall as much and he’s shocked to find this knowledge doesn’t spear him straight through the heart like it usually does. It hurts, of course it hurts, but he’s okay.

Mostly.

“It’s called maturity,” Niall announces, when Zayn tells him. “My little boy is growing up.” And he pinches Zayn’s cheek for good measure.

Zayn slaps his hand and squirms away, but he’s laughing. “Listen. _Listen_ to me for a second. I want to go to ?’s party. Come with me?”

Niall stops short and clutches his chest because he’s a dramatic asshole sometimes. “Seriously? You wanna go?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Why not? You and mean, yeah? Could be fun.”

“ _Will_ be fun, you mean,” Niall says. “ _Will be fun_. He leaps onto Zayn’s back without warning. Zayn stumbles but catches himself. He laughs. He spins around and Niall hangs on, barely. He can’t stop laughing. Thank god for Niall. This is good. It’s good.

This is exactly what he needs.

 

//

 

They stick together for the first hour, and Zayn is grateful because he knows exactly no one. Niall, of course, seems to know everyone, and everyone knows him, and loves him, apparently. After a million high fives and hugs and back slaps and drinks thrust at him, he’s dragged away for a game or six of beer pong leaving Zayn to fend for himself. But Zayn is okay with it.

For once the music and the bodies and the heat don’t bother him. He finds himself smiling, laughing even, as strangers grind on him and he grinds back. He’s drinking, too, but careful about it, not wanting a repeat of the front-yard vomiting episode. Without Liam here he can’t be sure anyone will actually pay attention enough to take care of him.

Liam.

No. He closes his eyes and forces the thought away. Not tonight.

He spots Niall at random times, sweaty and red-faced, always surrounded by people. He has his phone out and is taking photos of everything, everyone. His face is very red and he’s smiling very wide. He’s pretty drunk, Zayn realizes, but not out of control yet. He’s taken photos with every person at the party, he’s pretty sure, and posting everything to Snapchat as well. Zayn watches from a distance, his heart stretching wide with affection. He’s focusing on Good Things tonight, on people who make him happy, the here and now, the fact that he’s alive and Good Things are still coming, they have to, otherwise what’s the point of anything—

_Liam._

_No._

He wanders into the kitchen to look for water when everything changes.

“Hey Zayn,” the boy says, smiling shyly. He has a nice smile. He’s very good looking. He’s standing very close and eyeing him with appreciation. Sam Aswad.

“Hey, Sam,” Zayn says, and he suddenly feels nervous, hyper alert, but in a good way. He remembers what Louis said, so long ago now, it seems ( _Sam thinks you’re a fine human specimen._ How romantic), a million years ago in his basement, back when Zayn was pining over Liam, and wondering if anything could ever happen between them. He smiles at Sam. He gathers all his courage. Say something. Anything. Talk to him. “How were exams?”

“Good, I think. You?”

Zayn nods and sips cold water from a red Solo cup. “Okay. Glad they’re done.”

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

Zayn shrugs. “Felt like celebrating, I guess.”

“I’m glad,” Sam says quietly, then bites his lip. Good god. Zayn feels a flush building from his chest up to his face. Is this what it’s like? Flirting? What people do every weekend?

“Me too,” he says, and he means it.

Sam smiles wider. “You wanna sit somewhere?”

“Sure,” Zayn says, and he means that too, and it’s easy as that, as easy as he ever imagined when both people are free and curious and attracted to one another. Doesn’t have to mean anything, doesn’t have to lead anywhere, just some fun on a Saturday night.

No big deal.

And Sam’s lips are very soft and taste sweet, like he’s been drinking something other than beer, and Zayn appreciates that. There’s a hand on the side of his neck, and a tongue against his and for the first time in a long time he’s doing something just for him, something that just feels good without worrying about consequences or feelings. He’s not even wondering what Sam is thinking because in all honesty he doesn’t really care. Sam doesn’t know him. Sam finds him physically attractive, but beyond that, there’s no real connection, no history, no complications to fuck everything up. There are lips and tongues and teeth and hands and it’s good for right now, it’s just what he—

Liam.

Actually, it’s Niall, standing above him, holding his phone in front of his face and shouting into it. Zayn just stares at him. Sam looks confused, and vaguely annoyed.

“It’s Liam!” Niall shouts with glee. His face is sweat-shiny and he’s swaying on his feet. Zayn will have to cut him off soon. “Look! We’re Facetiming! It’s like he’s right here at the party with us!”

Niall turns the screen towards him and yes, it’s really Liam, right there, staring back at him. Zayn closes his eyes. This is his life.

“Hey, Li,” he says and waves. Sam waves too. They both wave.

“Zayn Zayn Zaynie,” Liam says through the phone. His voice is loud and then distant, like he’s not holding it properly next to his face. Zayn can’t help smiling at it. “Where are you? I’ve been calling you all night.”

“I’m right here, see?” He waves again. Liam squints. It’s very loud where he is, like he’s also at a party. He also might be drunk. Jesus. Zayn sighs. He’s suddenly very tired.

“Who’s that?”

“It’s Sam. Hey Liam,” Sam says, easy as anything. He even slings an arm over Zayn’s shoulder, pushes his cheek up against his.

Liam says nothing to that but Zayn can read his expression right through the phone screen and it makes his heart stutter. He turns to Sam.

“Hang on, ok? I’ll be right back.” He grabs the phone from Niall’s hot, sticky hand. He makes his way outside into the cool night air.

“Did you kiss him?” Liam says immediately. He’s drunk. He sounds drunk.

“What?”

“Sam. Did you kiss him?” Liam is trying very hard to enunciate, Zayn can tell, but it’s not coming out too clearly. Zayn looks around to see if anyone is in earshot.

“Yeah. I did. Why?”

“I don’t want you to.”

“What?” Zayn isn’t sure he’s heard him correctly.

“What are you doing, Zayn? Like are you just gonna go around kissing random people at parties forever? Like. You’re such a fucking _tease_. You know that? It’s not fair to people. People get _hurt_ , you know? Like, do you even think about that? Sam thinks you’re hot. You _know_ that. Niall told you that. Are you leading him on? Or are you gonna go home with him, now?”

“Pardon?” Zayn laughs. This is insane, is what this is. He has to laugh because this can’t actually be happening. “Are you being serious right now?” Other faces pop into view now, guys from the football team, yelling Zayn’s name, jostling for position. Liam pushes them away in frustration. He looks right at Zayn.

“I’m sorry I _interrupted_ something, but I wanted to talk to you. I’ll let you get back to him.” He says something else but there’s too much noise where he is. It’s dark and loud and Zayn doesn’t really want to hear anyway.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” They never swear at each other ever. Zayn feels sick. “Liam?”

“Just forget it,” Liam mutters. There are shouts and whoops and sounds of breaking glass and Zayn can barely hear him. “Forget I said anything, ok?”

“No,” Zayn says. He might shout it. “No I won’t. I won’t forget it. Not when it comes to you. This is so stupid. Don’t you see how stupid this is?”

Liam looks like he’s going to say something, but then he shakes his head and the screen goes dark and he’s gone. Zayn feels like crying but he’s too mad to let it happen. He sits on a step on the front porch of the house he’s never been to and listens to all the people he doesn’t know scream and celebrate behind him.

Whose brilliant idea was this, again?

“Best idea ever, mate!” Niall says in his ear. He reeks. He’s so fucking happy but he stinks and it’s time to go home.

“Sure,” Zayn says and lets his head fall against his knees.

“What’s going on?” Niall asks softly, hand around the back of Zayn’s sweaty neck. The night air is cool and it feels good.

“I don’t know.” Zayn shakes his head. “Everything. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Niall says. “What do you wanna do?”

Zayn looks up at the sky, dark and endless and he wishes he was somewhere else, anywhere else. Somewhere far away from here. He swallows, swipes an arm over his face.

“I wanna go home.”

“Okay.” Niall nods. “Okay.”

They go.

 

//

 

Zayn’s not nearly as hungover as he thought he’d be when he knocks at Liam’s door the following day. It’s almost noon and there are no cars in the drive. He has no clue who’s home, if anyone’s home, if _Liam_ is even home, but he’s here. He’s here and he has to do this because he can’t take it anymore. And if this is it, if this is the end, then he has to be brave about that, too. His heart is thudding hard, erratic, and he’s sure he’s never felt this nervous. Nervous about talking to _Liam_ for fuck’s sake. This is what it has come to and he’s never felt more alone in his life.

He almost loses his nerve, almost turns and makes a run for it when the door opens and Liam is standing there, looking freshly showered, dressed in worn jeans and a loose, white T-shirt. His feet are bare. His expression is carefully blank.

“Hi,” Zayn says at last when it’s apparent he has to speak first.

Liam nods. He doesn’t invite Zayn in.

“I guess we need to talk.” Zayn pauses. “Or something.”

Liam nods again and opens the door wide enough for Zayn to slip through. He toes off his trainers and follows Liam down the hallway and they both stand, far enough away from each other that it feels awkward. Two strangers trying to make small talk in the confines of Karen Payne’s spotless, coffee-scented kitchen. Zayn thinks of all the hours he’s spent in this room, helping prepare dinner, helping everyone clean up, doing homework with Liam at the table, laughing about something stupid. Liam is looking everywhere but at him. His arms are crossed, fingers pressed into the flesh of his arms. He’s leaning against a bank of cupboards while Zayn is pressed up against the counter. He can feel the hard stone digging into his lower back. He swallows audibly, wonders again if this is The End.

He decides to get right to it. “Do you even remember last night?”

Liam looks up, brow furrowed. “Yeah. I wasn’t that wasted, Zayn.”

“Okay. So you said some pretty weird shit is all.”

Liam looks slightly panicked at that and Zayn relaxes. It’s the first display of emotion he’s shown. Maybe they can figure this out after all.

“I told you to forget it,” Liam says. He pauses and blows out a breath and looks so wounded and defeated, Zayn almost decides to call the whole thing off. “Please,” he says and it sounds like he’s begging. “Please forget it.”

“No.” Zayn crosses his arms, too, the two of them mirroring months of sadness and anger and frustration across from each other on a sunny Saturday morning. “What’s going on with you?”

There’s a pause so long Zayn thinks he’s not going to reply when:

“I broke up with Sophia last night.”

Oh.

Liam watches him.

Before he can censor, Zayn says quietly, “Good.”

“Why good?” Liam says, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. “I called you like 20 times last night to talk to you about it and you never answered, so I called Lou and Harry and they didn’t know where you were and then I called Niall and you’re at some huge party and you’re with fucking Sam? And then you tell me you were kissing, so why is it _good_ that I broke up with Sophia?”

“I just,” Zayn starts. He’s not sure where this sentence is heading. “I just. I think you can do better I guess.” And fuck does _that_ make him sound like an idiot.

“Better how? What are you trying to say, Zayn?” Liam crosses his arms tighter. He fingers are making white marks against his arms. “I mean. Enough already.”

“Enough what?” Zayn is honestly confused but weirdly electrified, too. He knows something is coming and he knows he can’t avoid it anymore.

“Come on,” Liam says and he sounds mad, really mad, madder than he sounded last night because now he’s sober and he’s mad _at Zayn_. It’s almost more than Zayn can take. “You’re an English major. You love poetry. Use your fucking words. Tell me. Be honest with me for once.”

Zayn gapes, literally. “Honest? Really?” He looks down and shakes his head. “Honest.” He mutters this and when he looks up Liam is staring at him and Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look this fed up.

And it’s the two of them staring at each other and both are breathing harder than normal, Liam’s arms folded tightly across his chest like he’s keeping something contained inside and Zayn is gripping the countertop with white knuckles knowing he’s about to let something out, something big and powerful.

And somehow Liam’s anger fuels Zayn, makes him push away from the counter, straightening his shoulders and finally exhaling.

“I want things to change,” he says and his voice sounds much stronger than he feels. “I want things to be different.”

“What things?” Liam says in his tight not-Liam voice, but he’s watching Zayn closely. Zayn waves vaguely and wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. What a stupid idiotic thing to start when he has no idea how to finish it.

“I don’t want you to go on anymore dates.”

“I just told you Sophia and I broke up—”

“Yeah ok. Good. Like I said, good. Don’t date anyone else then.”

“Why?”

Zayn pauses. “Because,” he says at last and it sounds feeble and Liam frowns. Then he shrugs like he doesn’t care but his arms are still tight tight around himself and his eyes are fever bright.

“ _Why_?”

And Zayn is horrified to find his eyes filling with tears and he blinks at them furiously and Liam looks like he’s about to leap across the kitchen and like _hug_ him or something but he keeps himself still with great effort and just waits. And waits.

“I just don’t want you to date anyone.”

“Anyone?”

Zayn shakes his head.

Liam is perfectly still for a long time, his eyes not wavering from Zayn’s face. “I don’t want you to kiss anyone, then.”

Zayn tilts his head. “Girls or just guys?”

Liam closes his eyes. “Anyone, ok? I don’t want you to kiss anyone.”

Zayn bites his cheek. And, because he just can’t help it: “ _Anyone?_ ”

Liam drops his head into his hands and groans. “Jesus Zayn. You make everything so difficult.” He sighs, speaks into his palms, muffled. “I just want you to kiss me, ok? Me. Only me. Are you satisfied?”

_Oh_.

“I just want you to date me,” Zayn says and it might be the hardest thing he’s ever said. “Only me.” His voice trails off and he can’t think of anything else to say.

Neither of them moves.

“What if it all gets ruined?” Liam says and his voice is still muffled by his hands.

“I don’t _care_ about Niall’s parents, yeah?” Zayn says then, sniffing and blinking. Liam looks up. “Wait. That came out wrong. That’s not what I mean.”

He feels like an asshole, but it gets a ghost of a smile from Liam, so Zayn plows on. “I mean. We’re best friends, right? So. Yeah. At least I hope we still are. We’re best mates and…and that’s good and it’s important. It’s the most important thing in my whole life.” He realizes his voice is getting louder so he stops and takes a breath and stares at Karen’s spotless fridge. It’s very shiny. “But I want more. I want more than that. And I’m willing to take that chance because it’s gonna be ok. I’ll make sure it’s ok. Because.” He gulps in air. “Because I fell in love with my best friend.”

“Because you fell in love with your best friend.” Liam repeats it so quietly it’s almost a whisper but Zayn hears him fine.

“Because I fell in love with my fest friend.” He nods emphatically. They stare at each other.

“Do you mean that?” Liam says at last and his voice is small, his anger deflated. “Cuz I don’t want you to say anything you don’t really mean just to. Just to. I mean. Please don’t screw me around because—”

“Do you think I’d say it if I didn’t mean it?” Zayn says and he can hear the anguish in his own voice, hears how it cracks on the final words. “Liam I got the shit kicked outta me for looking at you the wrong fucking way. Do you think.” He pauses because he has to. “Do you really think I’d risk putting myself out there, to wanting to be with you, really be with you and hold your hand in public and hug you whenever I want and kiss you in front of everyone and smile at you and tell you how much I love you without worrying someone is gonna gonna—”

He stops then because he’s crying in earnest now and then Liam has his arms wrapped around him so tight it hurts and Zayn shoves his head against the hard muscle of Liam’s shoulder and breathes him in

“I love you too,” is all Liam says. “I love you too. I really do. I love you.” He says it into the top of Zayn’s head hard and fierce until it’s all Zayn has in his brain.

Zayn nods. “Okay.”

And Liam keeps saying it until Zayn finally relaxes, muscles unknotting and snotty nose drying against Liam’s shirt.

“Yeah. Yeah. I fucking fell in love with my best fucking friend. Big fucking deal, right?”

Liam nods and smiles shyly. “Big fucking deal.”

“Happens all the time.”

“So I’ve heard.”

They pull apart and look at one another, look away, bite their lips.

“Now what?” Liam says, and he sounds truly puzzled. Zayn’s fingers twitch. He closes his eyes and then snaps them open.

“Now I can do this,” he says, and leans forward and kisses Liam, a real kiss this time, full and soft and tear-salty and pliant, gentle and testing, but with a hint of something stronger behind it. Liam leans into it, hands raising automatically to grab at something, at Zayn’s chest, at his shirt, and he feels Liam’s breath hitch in his chest before he pulls back, eyes wide, lips wet. Their breaths are very loud in the quiet.

“We have to go upstairs. Now,” Liam says then, voice ragged. He grabs Zayn’s wrist and tugs.

“Why?” Zayn swipes at his face once more with the other hand.

“Because my mum will kill me if I do what I want to do to you in her kitchen,” Liam says and Zayn gasps and grins at the same time, his whole face going hot, and he lets Liam pull pull pull him from the kitchen up the stairs and down the hall to Liam’s room, shuttered and cool and smelling of detergent and vanilla and faintly of weed and it’s Liam. Zayn can feel him everywhere all at once, not only in the air but on him, beside him, hands touching his face, his neck and it’s so much all at once. But because he can, he presses his face into Liam’s neck, lets his lips press against the warm skin there, hears Liam’s breath hitch, feels his fingers tighten at his waist.

“Do that again,” Liam whispers and Zayn does. They’re moving back towards the unmade bed, slants of light coming through the half-closed shutters and suddenly they’re falling, Zayn on top of Liam, knees and hips and elbows knocking together. Zayn kisses his neck, his jaw, his collarbone, lets his tongue dart out a tiny bit to lick at the birthmark. Liam gasps this time, mouth open and slack and Zayn puts his lips there, too, just pressing. Liam shifts and his hips move up into Zayn’s and Zayn can feel him, all of him, the hardness there and it’s all too much.

“Li,” he says quietly, pushing down just a bit. Zayn wraps his arms around Liam so tight he feels Liam gasp. Zayn digs his face into Liam’s salty neck and breathes hot and hard. He’s shaking. He knows he is and he feels stupid but he can’t stop. Liam runs his hands up and down Zayn’s trembling sides, up and down.

“Zayn,” he says. “Zayn it’s ok. We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do anything.” Zayn wants to laugh.

“No,” he says and he’s grinning. He grins against Liam’s mouth so he can feel it. “You don’t get it. I want to do _everything_.”

Liam stops breathing. Then he smiles. Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Ok. But first. First let’s just. Let’s do this.” He slips out from under Zayn, moves over top of him, hand settling on his chest.

“I wanna touch you,” he says.

“Yeah. Ok.”

His fingers skim Zayn’s throat, feel the pulse there, down his chest to his waist, the hem of his T-shirt, the soft skin beneath that. Liam’s expression is very serious but full of awe as well and Zayn bites his lip to keep from smiling, to keep from laughing with joy and surprise. What is happening? Liam pushes the shirt up, up, fingers skimming over ribs and tattoos, hovering over a nipple. And then he stops, completely. Zayn lifts his head and oh—

The bruises. Right. A rainbow medley of greens and purples scattered over his ribcage. He’s mostly forgotten about them, or has tried to, but the way Liam is _looking_ at them. Zayn touches his hair.

“Keep going,” he says. “ _Please_.”

Liam exhales slowly. His eyes finally meet Zayn’s, wide and questioning and Zayn just nods, keeps nodding because yes. Yes. Yes to that. Yes to all of it, really. Just don’t stop.

Liam’s fingers brush over his left nipple, then his right and Zayn sucks in a breath. He can’t help it. He’s not sure if anyone has touched him like this ever, and no, he’s pretty positive they haven’t. Not with this care, this _reverence_ that is making him painfully hard. He knows Liam can feel _that_ , too, because his hips push down once, twice, before his mouth descends and his lips push down on his chest, wrap around a nipple and suck.

“Fuck,” Zayn says. He can’t help it. He’s trying to not be too loud but he feels like he shouted that. Liam doesn’t shush him and he doesn’t stop, thank god. He keeps sucking and licking, fingers slipping down to the waistband of Zayn’s jeans, down the front, pushing down lightly on his dick.

“I don’t want to stop,” Liam says and he’s looking at Zayn with his serious face again. “I don’t want to stop touching you. I want to touch you everywhere.”

“Then do it,” Zayn says.

Liam fumbles with the button and fly and pushes everything down at once, Zayn’s dick bouncing up against his stomach, heavy and already wet and it would be embarrassing if Liam didn’t make that noise that makes Zayn break out in gooseflesh.

Liam puts his mouth on Zayn’s hipbone, one then the other, then lower, against the wiry hair there. Zayn can feel his warm breath then his mouth, his gorgeous mouth, lips kissing and sliding, tentative and then bolder.

“Liam, fuck,” he breathes, hands landing in Liam’s hair, tight and tugging. Liam moans, his mouth fully around Zayn’s cock now, tongue moving experimentally. Then he stops, he bloody _stops_ , forehead against his trembling stomach, warm breaths puffing across his skin.

“Don’t have a clue what I’m doing,” he whispers.

“Coulda fooled me,” Zayn says and laughs. It comes out as a breathy groan. He’s going to come before this even gets going, just because it’s Liam, and Liam’s mouth and Liam’s voice.

Liam glances up, shy and turned on at the same time and Zayn has never seen anything so beautiful.

“I’m gonna come without you even touching me just because I’m doing this to you,” Liam says then and Zayn could cry because yeah, they both get it, they both feel the same way about it and of course they do. Liam licks again and Zayn groans and moves away, pulls Liam up towards him, hands moving down to find Liam’s jeans, unbuttoning and pushing and wriggling until, he too, is free of clothing and god, Liam’s dick and hard and flushed and fucking beautiful. Zayn stares at it for moment, unsure, until Liam nudges up with his hips, licking his lips nervously like Zayn has changed his mind or something. He wraps a hand around it and Liam moans and tucks his face into Zayn’s neck.

“What are we doing?” he mumbles. “Like. Fuck. Zayn. We must be. _Fuck_.” Zayn moves his hand up and down, feeling the wetness gathered at the tip and shuddering because he knows it’s because of him, of them, of what they’re doing together right now. The months, the years of buildup and now this.

Finally.

“I wanna,” he says before he replaces his hand with his mouth and Liam groans at that, he’s making noises Zayn’s never heard him make before and it’s incredible, it’s dizzying. His sounds and scent and everything is everywhere. Zayn closes his eyes and lets his lips and mouth move, sucking and licking as Liam shudders and bucks against him. Zayn wraps his other hand around himself to help relieve some pressure but it’s building too fast, too much. Liam’s hand twists almost painfully in his hair as Zayn’s mouth moves and his hand moves on himself.

“Zayn I’m gonna—” is all Liam says before he’s coming, hard and hot and fast and Zayn stays through it all, swallowing and gasping as he comes, too, suddenly, just like all the times he has when he’s been alone but infinitely better, in the quiet of Liam’s bedroom.

Then it’s just them and the breaths ripped from their throats, Liam’s fingers tangled in Zayn’s hair and Zayn’s lips lax against Liam’s trembling thigh.

“C’mere,” Liam says at last, voice ruined, hand tugging upward. Zayn moves with loose limbs, falling beside him, face against his shoulder. Liam puts his arms around him, pulling him closer, kissing the top of his head, once, twice.

“Holy shit,” is all Zayn can say. “I mean. That was.”

“Yeah.”

“Better than poetry,” Zayn says, laughing a little.

Liam laughs, loud and full of joy. “Zayn,” he says, like he gets it at last. It’s a puzzle he’s finally solved. He says it again. “Zayn.” The name sounds like love in his mouth. “You’re the one who’s the artichoke. The one with the walls. The _scales_ , right? The one who hides everything and pretends he’s tough and that nothing upsets him but has the biggest heart to protect. I mean. The one that.” Liam pauses. “The one that pretends you don’t need anyone.” Liam’s voice drops low, his fingers brushing Zayn’s jaw, light as summer air. “Or loves anyone.”

Zayn looks up, eyes wet. “Okay yeah. Yeah. Okay.” He sniffs. “But it’s all a lie, right?”

“Yeah? Did I get it? Did I get it right?” Liam looks almost excited, like he’s looking for Zayn’s approval, like he’s waiting for a mark on a test. But, at the same time, there’s something else there, hovering just behind, some kind of desperate need.

Zayn sniffs again. Fuck. “Yeah. Yeah. Of course, Yeah. Jesus Liam. Okay. Cuz I need you, okay.” Liam’s face softens even more, if that’s possible. He sucks in his bottom lip, tilts his head, smiles. “And I love you, okay? I mean. I love you. I’m in love with you. You must know that.” Zayn drops his head in his head. “Fuck. You must know that.”

Liam wraps his arms around him tight, tighter, pulling Zayn’s loose body to him.

“Yeah. Yeah. I do.”

And they lie like that for a few more minutes, lips and noses touching, until they hear the front door open and slam shut, and Karen’s bright, cheery “I’m home!” floating up the stairs. Then it’s a crazy, frantic, messy giggling race to clean up and find pants and wiggle into jeans and steal a few more kisses before they stumble down the stairs to say hello and help with the groceries.

 

//

 

He finds the book tucked into his bag when he’s getting ready for bed that night. He hasn’t opened his backpack for days, not since school ended, and he’s rifling through tattered study notes and old tests when he finds it, tucked into the front pocket. He has no idea how long it’s been there and he has no clue how it got there. Zayn holds it in his hands, shy and unsure, wondering if what he’s looking at is real or whether he’s imagining it. But no, it’s the same edition as his old one, his battered, destroyed one, the one he’s carried with him forever, really, and read and re-read and read to Liam and recited to Liam and tucked under his arm and his head. Shiny and stiff without Zayn’s dog-eared and sweat dimpled pages and with an inscription on the title page in Liam’s unmistakable endearingly boyish loopy handwriting:

 

_The tender-hearted_  
_upright_  
_artichoke_  
_girded itself as_  
_a warrior, constructed_  
_a small dome,_  
_to itself_  
_waterproof_  
_within_  
_its scales_

_because I think I know what it means now  
your Liam_

 

Zayn waits until he’s composed himself before he dares Facetime Liam. It’s late and it’s dark and all Zayn can make out is a few facial features, Liam’s teeth when he smiles, his profile when he turns away shyly.

“Thank you,” Zayn says. 

“You found it,” Liam says. Zayn can feel his smile radiating through the screen. “Good. I thought. I thought you could use a new one, to start over, you know?”

Zayn nods firmly. “It’s perfect.”

They watch each other, still a bit tentative.

“I kept trying,” Liam whispers in the dark. “I kept trying to date these. People. And it didn’t work. It wasn’t working. And then there was you. And it was so _easy_ , the two of us. It was _so_ easy I thought it must be a trick, that it could never work, you know?”

Zayn knows.

“And that night you were with Sam.” Liam’s voice goes even quieter. “I thought I was gonna lose my mind. I thought I’d lost _you_.”

Zayn shakes his head and says as firmly as he can, “No. Never. No matter what.”

Liam dips his head. “Good,” he says at last. “Good.”

‘You and me, huh?” Zayn says, and those words, what they mean, and the images of what the two of them _did_ this afternoon, burn behind his eyes and his entire body goes hot and cold because he still can’t quite believe it.

“You and me.” Liam smiles so wide. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

_Yeah._

 

//

 

_And so it ends,_  
_in peace,_  
_the career_  
_of the armored vegetable_  
_called “artichoke,”_  
_and presently_  
_scale by scale_  
_we undress_  
_this delight_  
_we munch_  
_the peaceful paste_  
_of its green heart._

 

9) skinny dipping/football/the end/the beginning

 

Their boys are thrilled, of course, (“Over the fucking moon,” are Louis’ exact words), and Zayn receives a record number of hugs and back slaps and a chorus of “I told you so!” and “It’s about time!” and, “You owe me five pounds!” and Niall even takes him aside at one point and apologizes — apologizes! — for his comments about best friends falling in love.

“My parents are my parents, and you two are. Well, you’re _you two_ , yeah? You’re gonna be fine. Better than fine. You’re gonna kick love’s _ass_ ,” and Zayn knows exactly what that means.

And he agrees.

He even joins in the football game again, playing alongside Liam, who carefully passes the ball to him and Zayn actually scores on Harry, completely by accident because Harry was staring at Louis’ ass, but still, it’s a goal and there’s much hooting and hollering and Liam picking him up and swinging him around like Hollywood movie lovers and planting a long, hard kiss on his lips because they can do things like that now.

Later, Louis raises a bottle to the sky and says, quite solemnly, for Louis:

“Here’s to summer.”

“And football,” says Zayn, making everyone laugh.

“And love,” Harry croons, his face against Louis’ neck but his eyes on Zayn and Liam. Zayn sticks his tongue out at him, but he can’t stop smiling.

“And being braver than you feel,” says Liam. No one questions it. They all just nod.

“And the future,” says Niall. They all look at him. “Everything is going to be ok, yeah? I can feel it. No matter.” He pauses. “No matter what. It’s gonna be ok I think.” His voice is very quiet in the warm night air, but they all hear him just fine.

And later still:

Liam’s touch is light as air on his cheek. Zayn opens his eyes and squints. Liam’s face is close to his in the near dark, but Zayn can see the smile, the glorious smile and the wide, bright eyes. Something is happening, or about to.

“What is it?”

“Come on.”

“Where?” Zayn struggles to sit up, tangled in sweaty sheets.

Liam’s hand slides down Zayn’s cheek to his neck, his shoulder, his arm. “Swimming.”

“Wait. What?” Zayn turns to see the bedside clock. It’s 3 a.m. He’d fallen asleep on the patio, or passed out, he can’t remember, and Liam had carried him to bed, where he’d promptly rolled over and slept on. “Now?”

“Of course now. Why not?” Liam is fairly bouncing with excitement. His hand tightens on Zayn’s elbow, tugging gently.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Asleep, silly,” Liam says. “Or, doing whatever. This is for us.” He steps back a bit, his expression sobering. “ _Just_ for us.”

“Oh.” Zayn sits up, shakes the last of sleep from his head. Of course. Of course. He smiles. “Ok then.”

They slip like shadows out of the room, down the stairs, out the patio doors, along the walkway, fingers entwined, elbowing each other in the sides lightly, laughing quietly under the light of the moon and stars.

“C’mon,” Liam says. He catches Zayn’s apprehensive expression. It’s the football pitch all over again. “Don’t worry. We’ll stay in the shallow end.” He strips down quickly, T-shirt, shorts then underwear, 

Zayn watches him as he slips under the water, barely making a sound or a ripple and he’s under for so long Zayn feels himself start to panic. He pops up in the deep end, right under the diving board, panting.

“Not fair,” Zayn says quietly but his voice carries over the water. Liam grins and ducks under again, gliding powerfully back towards Zayn. He pops up again in front of Zayn, tosses droplets of water from his short hair.

Suddenly it’s a lot more serious, a lot less like a game. Liam bites his lip.

“Come on, then,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. It’s like a dare almost. Or a plea. Zayn isn’t quite sure and he’s not sure Liam knows either.

Zayn swallows and shrugs, one-shoulder like it’s no big deal, then tugs off his own shirt and shorts, letting them fall in a puddle at his feet. Liam watches, his face in shadows and Zayn can’t read his expression. Zayn takes a deep breath and slides his underwear down over his hips, knees, kicks out of them and stands on the edge of the pool naked, trembling, determined not to cover any part of himself with his hands. Liam keeps watching, doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.

“Zayn,” he says at last and he says it like it actually _hurts_. “You’re so beautiful.”

Zayn shivers but it’s not cold and he ducks his chin and eases himself into the water carefully. It comes up to his waist but he’s still nervous and he takes a big breath and then Liam is there, turned around, crouching down and Zayn knows what he’s doing. He grins and laughs and climbs on, arms slung easily over Liam’s neck, legs around his waist and Liam sets off. His strokes are sure and strong and they glide through the water like it’s nothing and Zayn is amazed, always amazed, that this is possible. Like air travel. How do they stay up there? How do they not crash? Liam’s head is steadily above water and his feet are barely kicking and Zayn lets his legs unfurl from around Liam’s waist and kind of float behind them as they reach the deep end together. Liam grasps the ledge and takes a few breaths and then turns and heads back towards the shallow end.

Zayn holds on, slick skin on slick skin, and tries very hard to not feel Liam’s muscles working under his bare chest, or how his dick is so very close to Liam’s naked ass or how _bare_ both of them are or how warm the water is or how quiet the night is or how he actually feels like he’s swimming even if he’s actually not, not really, but it’s close enough and it’s miraculous, in its way. Liam dips too low when he finally starts to tire and gets a mouthful of water and starts choking and sputtering but they’re close enough to the shallow end now that Liam can stand and Zayn can slip off and he rubs Liam’s back a bit while he coughs and smiles a bit, embarrassed.

“M’okay,” he says. “You’re heavier than you look.”

Zayn smiles, presses his teeth into Liam’s shoulder so lightly. “Tougher, too.”

Liam shivers. “Yeah. We all know that.”

Zayn laughs at that and Liam does a bit, too. Their voices sound too loud in the quiet air and suddenly neither of them is saying anything at all. Zayn has moved back towards the pool edge, feeling somehow safer when he’s close to the wall, even in waist-deep water and Liam is following him, watching him, throat working nervously. Zayn’s back hits the ledge and he stops and Liam stops right in front of him, not touching him. Liam swallows.

“Come on, then,” Zayn says at last. His voice shakes but he doesn’t look away. Liam nods in agreement and then dips his head and kisses Zayn, soft lips wet with pool water. It’s their only point of contact, their mouths, their tongues, dipping and swirling until Zayn is dizzy with it. Then Liam bites at Zayn’s lower lip and Zayn groans because he can’t help it and just like that Liam moves forward, has him up against the pool edge, like Zayn has watched Louis do to Harry so many times before, and Liam pulls back and is staring at him, drinking him in like he can’t believe it’s really happening, naked and slick and pressed up against one another in the pool where they’ve laughed and splashed and dove and dunked for years. Zayn can feel the length of Liam pressed up against him and it’s almost too much, too overwhelming. They’ve haven’t been completely naked together yet — haven’t done much since the first time in Liam’s bedroom, what with work schedules and family and responsibilities — and that thought alone is almost enough to push him over the edge. His fingers curl convulsively into Liam’s back and Liam makes a sound, a low moan in his throat, that makes Zayn hard, harder.

It’s quiet except for their harsh and heavy breaths and the small splashes they make as they fumble with each other’s slick skin. Zayn slides one hand down over Liam’s chest, his stomach, clutches at his hip, making Liam buck into him, before grasping his cock, heavy and light at the same time in his hand, before he moves, up and down, up to the tip and down, Liam’s harsh breaths in his ear. Zayn is aching and Liam’s hand finds him, too, and they’re moving together, unpracticed and a bit awkward but better than anything Zayn has ever felt in his life.

Liam comes first with a muffled shout, falling forward and biting into Zayn’s shoulder convulsively, which makes Zayn come immediately after, his fingernails digging into Liam’s back harder than intended.

“Sorry,” Liam says immediately when he sees the bite mark on Zayn’s skin, followed immediately by, “Oh shit. Niall’s gonna kill us.”

Zayn snorts. His heart is still pounding. “Like Lou and Harry haven’t already done this a million times.”

“Gross,” Liam says, but he’s smiling.

They clamber out and walk back to their room, not racing this time, holding hands and clothes and not talking. They fall into bed naked, curling immediately into each other, legs and arms twining, breaths evening out slowly.

Just before sleep overtakes them, Liam mumbles something into the top of Zayn’s head.

“Wha?”

“I’m your artichoke.”

Zayn laughs. “You’re my tender-hearted artichoke.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. You are.” Zayn squeezes his eyes shut tight, feels the salty tears at their edges. It’s funny and it’s poetic and it’s light-hearted but not, all at once. It’s so much more. He swallows, hard. “And I love you. So much.”

Liam twists a bit in the bed, getting more comfortable. The hot summer air breathes in through the half-open window, full of light and hope and stars.

“Zayn,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Love you too.” He presses hot moist lips to Zayn’s neck. Zayn smiles.

And it’s so easy.

 

//

 

It ends with Liam and poetry and football, like all the best things in Zayn’s life do these days.

Or, it’s just a better beginning, really.

It’s full-on summer now, warm and green and, right now, without a breath of breeze to cool the sheen of sweat forming on all their skin. Zayn watches his boys, book in his lap, Collected poems of Pablo Neruda, whole and shining with an inscription from Liam in the front flap, and watches and smiles. _Grins_ , even, as Louis whoops and hollers and Niall falls in an awkward somersault and Harry claps and cheers and Liam.

Liam has stopped running to turn and look at Zayn, hands on hips, breathing hard.

And Zayn just doesn’t want it to end, he wants to hang onto this moment forever. He doesn’t want anyone to leave, to head off to uni, to meet new people. He doesn’t want to lose _anyone_ ever and the very thought makes his heart race and his hands clench. Stay like this, he thinks. Stay like this forever. But he blinks and breathes and the spell is broken and Liam — his Liam, his boy — is looking right at him and grinning and it’s going to be ok. It’s all going to be ok because the two of them will make sure it’s all ok.

They tumble off the field, clumsy puppies, glowing and nipping and yelling, decide they need pizza and beer _right now right this second_ and gather their bags and towels and water bottles and race to Louis’ shitty car, Louis in the lead, but hanging on to Harry’s hand and pulling him along, Niall biting at their heels and protesting all the way. Zayn watches them, book loose in his grip, Liam by his side. He can feel Liam’s gaze on his face, patient, waiting.

“Let’s go,” Liam says finally, tugging at Zayn’s hand. Louis and Harry and Niall are already at the car. Zayn can hear their shouts and laughter and doors slamming and bodies thudding and he blinks and looks right into Liam’s beautiful face. Liam smiles. Zayn smiles back. Liam tugs again, gently, firmly. “Zaynie. Let’s _go_.”

Zayn nods.

They go.

 

//


End file.
